


Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la

by Tulak_Hord



Series: Legacy of the Revenant [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku needs a bigger one, Force Visions, Gen, Good Dooku (Star Wars), Gratuitous Mathematics, In which Time-Travel is actually explained, Initial Obi-Wan fluff, Jedi Master Dooku, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Plagueis is watching, The Force is made of Superstrings, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi, the fermi paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25630651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulak_Hord/pseuds/Tulak_Hord
Summary: It matters not whom your father was; what matters is the father you'll be.In which young Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn't know that his master is a time-travelling, repentant Sith Lord whose idea of redemption is to train his former nemesis, and the Galaxy's fate is sent for a tumble.
Relationships: Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker & The Force, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Luke Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Legacy of the Revenant [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887805
Comments: 300
Kudos: 838





	1. Padawan Mine

**_ Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la _ **

**Chapter 1: Padawan Mine**

* * *

It was an uncommon occurrence for a resident of the Jedi Temple to be steeped in fear, and yet it was fear that both daunted and drove young Initiate Kenobi to a daunting task he never would have considered.

 _‘Perhaps that’s why you’ll never be a Jedi’_ said the same voice, the same sardonic voice in his mind that he had to fight with greater difficulty day after day, the silent, _rational_ part of him that he had begun to cave into- but it would not do to heed it yet.

This would be his final chance.

It was three weeks to his thirteenth birthday, three weeks till… _Bandomeer,_ he recalled, fighting an uncharacteristic throb that came with the thought. Three weeks till he was sent away to become a part of the AgriCorps, three weeks until the prospect of becoming a Jedi was taken from him- and his last chance, therefore, was now.

And so, he had rehearsed his part in this duel for months on end. He had worked hard, bringing himself almost to tears with his own exhaustion day after day. Sometimes, he practiced through the night, sleeping only when necessary. He had studied Shii-Cho and Makashi, and even a little Ataru (although it was not taught quite yet) to impress Master Jinn, and he knew he just needed to win this one duel.

Perhaps then, Master Jinn would take him, never mind that Master Jinn was the last Jedi any padawan should ever approach after his emphatic declaration that he would take no other, not after… Xanatos… had fallen.

Even Masters eager for padawans would not take him on, for the fact that he was apparently ‘too emotional’ and ‘unrestrained’. He wanted to learn the fabled Jedi restraint, he really did, but there was simply… no one to teach him.

His crèche master, Master Vant, was kind to him, but he left the apparent unsaid- Obi-Wan Kenobi simply wasn’t _enough._

And so, in what some might call a fit of defiance, Obi-Wan had decided, arbitrarily, that he would be. He had to be. Think of how many people he could help if he was a Jedi- how many like him, six-month old children, left on the banks of a river in Stewjon to die because his parents didn’t want him…

Obi-Wan knew he was not as gifted as his peers, what with Quinlan and his psychometry, or Bant and her prowess in the healing arts- but he swore to be whatever his eventual master wanted him to be. ‘Do or do not, there is no try’; Master Yoda would say, and yet he would try- that is all he could promise.

“In time, I’ll make it up to Master Jinn if he’s kind enough to choose me.” Obi-Wan thought. “I know I’m not good enough, but I’ll make it up to him for his kindness, in my own, simple little way.”

And that thought was the one anchor he could cling to in this moment.

Obi-Wan Kenobi did not wish power or greatness; why any would seek such was beyond him. He did not mind if he was made an archivist or some watchman over a remote Outer-Rim planet- greatness was for Jedi such as Master Windu, or perhaps that mystery Jedi Master no one would talk about who had brought victory at the otherwise disastrous Battle of Galidraan.

All Obi-Wan wanted was to help. All he ever wished was to do whatever task was given to him to the best of his ability, and he merely felt he could best accomplish this if he were to be a Jedi.

_Oof!_

Belatedly, he realised he had been caught up in his thoughts to the extent that he had not paid attention to his surroundings.

 _See? How can you hope to be a Jedi when you are so… clumsy, so hopeless?_ He chided himself.

With an utter dread, Obi-Wan looked up carefully, respectfully at the figure he had just bumped into.

His dread doubled.

_The man was a monolith- and was that a cape billowing behind him?_

He was taller than even Master Jinn- and by far more daunting. Before this unexpected meeting, Obi-Wan would have thought it was impossible for someone to be more daunting than Master Jinn (save Master Windu, perhaps), but here was one who achieved that effect.

Tentatively, Obi-Wan stretched forth his meagre presence in the Force, as he thought it, and touched it to the man’s own. It was a humble gesture, one begging forgiveness, without expectation of it at all.

What he felt in response was _pure ice._

He looked up with a now-tripled dread, to the man’s face- and, half-hidden under a hood, it gave nothing away. It seemed as if he was utterly emotionless. And neither was he serene and peaceful as were the other Jedi.

Obi-Wan could almost _feel_ the calculation behind the man’s cold, hard black eyes as he surveyed his small form from head to toe. His own lips froze, and utterances of hushed and garbled apology were silenced before they could come.

They stood in equal silence for what he felt was an eternity.

_This is all your fault. All your fault. You unheedingly, carelessly collided with this man, this man who could likely wipe you off the face of Coruscant with a thought._

_And now, he doesn’t like you._

If this was to be his expulsion from the Jedi Order, so be it. Nobody… nobody wanted him anyways. Maybe he was better off not on the AgriCorps at all- he’d only slow them down. So he took the plunge.

“My deepest apologies, Master.” he said, in the most carefully respectful tones he could muster. His verbiage was mellifluous yet humble, though in his consistent self-criticism he did not know it.

“I have been ineffably clumsy, as does not befit a Jedi. It was my endeavour to reconnoitre the whereabouts of a fellow initiate, Bruck Chun, as we are scheduled to duel under the supervision of Master Qui-Gon Jinn as part of the padawan tournament. I beg your pardon for my woolgathering on that matter, Master, and May the Force be with you.”

He was subjected to a few more moments of torture under the Master’s harrowing scrutiny. He fought the urge to gulp.

_Eloquent as always, Kenobi._

_… What?_

He could have sworn he’d heard –

“No matter, Initiate. I do not believe we need ever speak of this again. If you have places to be, I bid you, be on your way.”

Offered this excuse, this lifeline, Obi-Wan sprang. With many a hushed thanks and a promise to not make the same mistake again, the initiate scampered away as respectfully as he could manage.

He did not, therefore, see the supposedly indomitable figure bend; he did not see him fall to a knee and bring his hand to his forehead, shaking it. He did not see a solitary tear wend its way down his cheek, and he did not hear the muttered statement that carried with it a sorrow beyond words.

_“Oh, you poor fool.”_

* * *

**_It was not enough._ **

**_It was never enough._ **

Obi-Wan Kenobi _would_ never be a Jedi.

No matter how hard he’d worked, no matter how continuously he rehearsed, he should have known he was doomed to always fail.

He was outmatched in sheer power. He was outmatched in stamina. He was outmatched in his use of the Force.

It was only his technique, his carefully-honed technique which he had nurtured for months, that kept him alive in the duel.

He kept his orange training saber within measure of Senior Initiate Chun’s own red blade- where in the world had he gotten that, and how had he learned to fight like he had- he did not know.

_“Hey, Oafy-Wan, something got your arm? It’s limp as a wet noodle!”_

Master Jinn oversaw the scene, saying nothing. _Of course he’d say nothing, not if the words were well-deserved._

_He really was Oafy-Wan._

No. NO. Not now.

Sighing, he switched from a longpoint guard to a high guard, waiting. Chun smirked and stood in wrath.

An attempted wrath-cut was met with a squinter’s strike, with the following twitch-thrust guided aside from his body with the timely intervention of his instincts.

Master Jinn was watching.

Chun was clearly confident, telegraphing his overhead strike to a ridiculous extent, and yet Obi-Wan was cautious, parrying it perfectly with a Shii-Cho crossed ox. He had the chance on the foot-opening he created, but did not feel confident enough to take it, and so let Chun retreat.

_Master Jinn was watching._

He clearly wasn’t going to be selected by Qui-Gon Jinn, _the_ master of Ataru aggression, if he didn’t take the initiative. Obi-Wan tentatively attempted a circling feint, an apparent keening strike to the forehead which turned out to be a thrust to the wrist, and though his technique and timing were perfect, he was just too _cautious-_ a little too _cautious._

He did not possess the killer instinct he needed to make it count. He was… afraid.

Chun capitalised, stepping away from his thrust which was a few newtons too weak and slashing his forearm more viciously than needed with his training saber.

_Ssssk._

Obi-Wan bit his lip, fighting the pain. He called on his Force Reserves, trying to see if he had anything left that he could release his pain into the Force.

He did not.

He had fought himself, albeit valiantly, to the point of exhaustion.

_He would never be Master Jinn’s padawan._

It occurred to him to resign the duel. He amused himself with the thought of standing dramatically in a Shii-cho salute, saber raised high and perpendicular to the ground, waiting for the inevitable _sai cha_ that would, in theory, slay him.

**_NO._ **

The thought forced itself powerfully, almost violently into his mind. It occurred to him that it was not entirely his own.

_I beg your pardon?_

**NO.**

The voice repeated.

_“What shall I do, then? I can’t change who I am. I’m only Obi-Wan Kenobi. The unwanted. The failure.”_

**“You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, the most understated and overlooked initiate in the Jedi Temple. You shall be Obi-Wan Kenobi, an exemplar among padawans, from whom even his master shall learn. You may yet become Obi-Wan Kenobi, legendary Jedi Master; the wisest ever to live.”**

He felt like a fool, as all he could think of in response was, yet again- _‘What?’_

And yet there was… _something_ about it, something that prompted him to heed the voice.

Some primal instinct, some little voice that had lain dormant and was now roaring, that told him it was his only opportunity, and so he should take it.

_Lamentations will not help you now._

As his thoughts would not help him, he simply cast them aside. He focused on his instincts.

His strength was patient analysis, done over a great length of time. He did not have such time now. His energy was fading, fast.

He would need to win this duel- and he could not win it without a plan. _So he made one._

He saw that Chun was stronger in brute strength, but his technique was nowhere near his own, not after he had spent such time polishing it. He needed confidence, needed it badly, and yet did not have it- and so he would work around it.

Apparently, when two lightsabers were locked in a bind, their plasma _connected,_ and the victor of the bind would be typically the one with greater strength.

_Not so for a training saber._

With it, there were far more techniques one could bring to bear. He had noticed this, and even developed some of his own, although he had never used them out of respect for tradition.

_But it was now or never._

He switched from his typical longpoint to a peculiar guard he had learned of from the archives- the Fool’s Guard, with his saber pointed at his feet. It was a Soresu guard, designed to make one look helpless and vulnerable, when they were not.

Chun raised an eyebrow, obviously thinking him easy pickings. He attacked again with a wrath cut.

 _Just_ at the right moment, Obi-Wan retreated, bringing his saber down in a rising undercut, meeting Chun in a hanging parry. Chun pushed, but Obi-Wan- _he let go._

He weakened his own force on the bind, and Chun leapt upon the chance as would a predator. He pushed through, exerting more force than necessary, ready to slash poor Oafy-Wan Kenobi across his pathetic, skinny little chest- _and he was not there._

His saber was.

Using Chun’s own force, Obi-Wan had swivelled his own saber around, bringing it to Chun’s face. The initiate, startled, brought his own up to deflect, but Obi-Wan knew what would happen before it came.

Mind and Body, he gave himself to the Force, making himself an instrument of its will.

_Plunging cut. Twitch-thrust. Crooked stroke…_

**_Sai Tok._ **

To cut in half.

 **“Aargh!”** Chun yelled, throwing himself onto his back and writhing. A clean line had been cut across his waist, despite the low power settings, and it must have hurt like hell-

_Or did it?_

Obi-Wan never entertained considerations on whether his peer was play-acting for sympathy, as it had all passed in a blur for him.

_How could his victory have gone so… wrong?_

_He had given himself to the Force, just as all the Masters said- and- and it had made him perform Sai Tok._

Sai Tok was forbidden. And he, Obi-Wan, had destroyed his chances of ever becoming a Jedi Knight.

 _“He’s trying to kill me! Sweet Force, he may already have!”_ Chun whinged, and Obi-Wan momentarily entertained thoughts of it being true.

He turned his face, now stained with unwilling tears, to the immovable mask that was the face of Qui-Gon Jinn.

“Initiate Kenobi.” the master boomed- he did not speak loudly, but his voice still carried across the room.

“Yes, Master Jinn?” he said, bowing. “I… I hope my performance was… satisfactory?” he asked, feeling like a fool.

_Not a tear. Not a tear, in front of a Jedi Master._

Qui-Gon Jinn studied him fully.

“While I thank you for your consideration of myself among your potential masters, initiate Kenobi, even though I may have been the last on your list…”

Obi-Wan gulped. _Not good._

“It was, no doubt, for good reason, as you would be foolish, indeed, to think that I should take you as my padawan.”

Had he known better, he’d say that Master Jinn meant it more about himself as a teacher than about Obi-Wan as a student- but Master Jinn had said _‘you’._ Not ‘ _anyone’._

_‘You’._

“I… understand, master.”

_Release it into the Force. Release it into the Force…_

But Master Jinn was not finished.

“As purely your duelling instructor, I shall say this- while your technique _is_ good…” the master completely missed the way Obi-Wan’s face lit itself completely at this small, tempered praise. Another did not.

“You are _unbalanced. Emotional._ You broadcast your senses for all to hear, and it makes you uncharacteristically _lacklustre. Predictable.”_

“Yes, Master Jinn.”

“And _furthermore,_ you were to _lose_ that duel. You were falling behind, and for the first time I have ever seen, used your _passion_ of all things to gain a victory that would seem was not yours. Such traits are unbefitting of _any Jedi._ ”

Obi-Wan fell completely silent, down to the voices in his mind. There were other Masters present, many Masters, who were shooting him looks of sympathy- but not one intervened. _Not one._

He was being humiliated in front of all of them. His worst nightmare had come to be.

Qui-Gon shook his head, placing his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. The initiate flinched under the weight.

“Initiate, it may be difficult, but in time, you shall see this as a valuable lesson. You have potential, truly- but your place is not as a Jedi Knight. What saddens me most is your inability to accept the will of the Force. Were I in your place, I would rejoice. Few know the beauty of plants and growing things, and in that discipline you may grow to surpass me, for which I envy you. You will be able to _give_ life, the same life that the Knights protect.”

“Master… is it the will… of the- of the Force that I… go to Bandomeer?” Obi-Wan asked. He did not let slip his previous sentiment- ‘But I _want_ to be a Jedi Knight!’

“Yes, Initiate Kenobi. Of that I have no doubt. You will be a great member of the Order, wherever your path takes you. You must go to Bandomeer.”

**NO.**

Obi-Wan looked up, and his resigned acceptance turned once more to dread.

There, right behind Master Jinn- as if no one had seen him- _the phantom master had come again._

“M-Master Jinn?” Obi-Wan said, trying to warn him when words would not come from his mouth Qui-gon turned to him.

“Initiate, I can offer you no more advice other than to keep to the path that is set before you and follow the will of the Forc…”

_‘QUI-GON JINN.’_

Obi-Wan was party to the tableau of expressions that crossed Master Jinn’s face, so uncharacteristically for a Jedi.

It turned from resolute sternness to _puzzlement,_ then _shock,_ then _incomprehension_ to a flicker, the barest flicker of the same _dread_ he felt before becoming a blank slate of serene calm.

“ _Master_. If I may ask, what brought you here?”

The tall Jedi Master Obi-Wan had bumped into before threw off his hood, to reveal as face with a fine, primly-trimmed beard and meticulous hair, grey for the most part and yet whitening clearly along the lines.

He had a nose like a hawk’s beak and impossibly high cheekbones that made his face appear sculpted.

“The same commodity that always brings me to clean your messes. Your sightless bumbling, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Was that… _mortification_ Obi-Wan saw? On the face of the immovable Master Jinn?

Obi-Wan took the time to survey the rest of the scene as the two men almost glared at each other. Nearly all other Masters present had the same expression of anticipation mixed with a hint of anxiety, if not quite to the same levels as Master Jinn- except Master Drallig, the Battlemaster, who had raised one eyebrow and seemed to be watching with interest.

“May I ask why a Master such as yourself has finally thought to intervene, after thirty-six years, in an event such as an informal duel between initiates?”

“The answer lies in front of your _damnable_ eyes, Qui-Gon, and yet you have not the wit to see it. _How typical.”_

“If you must indulge yourself in assessing the lacking qualities of your own padawan, I shall humour you. What, exactly, would you say I have done incorrectly? In all I do, I follow the will of the Force. _As you taught me.”_

“Hardly, apprentice. It is never what you have done- it is whom you have not done right by. And as we stand, you have thoroughly, incorrigibly, blindly wronged _him.”_

And here the Master pointed at Obi-Wan. Little, good-for-nothing Obi-Wan. He felt as if the walls of the world were narrowing down on him, and wished for nothing but to sink into the ground- but yet again he came under scrutiny.

“In your complete and utter lack of vision, you would think his place lies within the AgriCorps. _This is not true._ Obi-Wan Kenobi will be a Jedi Knight, and he will be the most legendary Jedi Knight to live in our time, far surpassing myself and perhaps even my master- if not in power, then in wisdom.”

The other Masters looked in disbelief- but not at Obi-Wan. They looked at the mysterious, tall Master to whom Master Jinn had apparently been a padawan.

“And as such, I see no further choice left to me.”

The _other_ moment of his nightmares, the one he had been contemplating only after he met the tall Master had come to be.

The Icy figure turned to him, and Obi-Wan did not know what to think. This Master, whom he was sure had killed _hundreds-_ he possessed that glint of lethality in his eyes- had not only praised him, but had set expectations of him that were terrifying.

And so he summoned his courage. It was difficult, but he managed. He’d had his world shattered just moments ago- how bad could this be?

He looked at the Master’s eyes of his own volition.

_The Master looked away._

He turned away in full, away from even Master Jinn, and Obi-Wan did the same, half out of respect and half out of the knowledge that he did not know what to do. The phantom Master had looked away from him- and then he turned back.

Obi-Wan did not know what change had come over him, but it had been a change. Of that, there could be little doubt. His cold, hard eyes seemed somehow- _softer._

The calculating gaze seemed more forgiving- and his face was oddly contorted as if with great effort.

Belatedly, he realised that the corners of the thin, hard line that was his mouth were twitching up. _Was he- was he trying to smile?_

After a few failed attempts, the Master gave up. He looked at Obi-Wan solemnly again, and the initiate stood at attention.

Finally, he said the words, hesitantly, softly- yet his voice was so resonant that all present heard.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, would you do me the privilege- no, the _honour-_ of accepting my teachings, and consent to become my padawan learner?”

_And this was the moment of the happiest of his dreams._

Only now that he did not know _what_ to do. Had it come from any other master, he would have leapt at the chance; but it was _this_ one.

Yet it was now, or never.

“Yes.” he said, far more slowly, far less enthusiastically than he had ever intended. “Yes, Master… although I… forgive me, I- I do not know your name.”

The Master did not seem at least miffed by this- no, he seemed amused. And then- the _unthinkable-_ he succeeded in smiling, although it seemed more a pained grimace.

“I… believe that is to be expected, considering the general ignorance that pervades this place. I, Padawan, am Master Dooku of Serenno.”

 _Master Dooku._ Now he’d have to learn why his Master terrified him.

“Thank you, Master, and I should say the honour is mine to be taught by one as illustrious as you.”

Master Dooku turned and nodded to all present.

_“Then, Obi-Wan Kenobi, I proclaim thee Padawan of the Jedi Order.”_

* * *

**_Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la-_ ** _It matters not whom your father was; what matters is the father you’ll be- Mandalorian proverb_


	2. The Burden of Apprenticeship

**_ Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la _ **

**Chapter 2: The Burden of Apprenticeship**

He looked at the grim, forbidding door with a last moment of hesitance. It would not do to worry; not now.

Master Dooku’s quarters were in the highest echelons of the Temple, far removed from the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Far removed from, indeed, anything else. The door lay at the end of a long, durasteel corridor which was itself uncharacteristic, with no other doors to pepper it.

Obi-Wan looked at the plaque displayed above it, engraved in some runic script he did not recognise. ‘Dooku’ it must have said, and he wondered if it did, when the very same master swooped in from behind him and took it down.

“I shall have to engrave your name later, padawan mine.” he said, absently. “For now, home.”

He gestured at the scanner next to the door.

“Master, I…”

“Go on. What is mine is yours now- and I took the liberty of updating the interface to recognise your fingerprints.”

Somewhat reluctantly, the young padawan placed his fingers on the scanner, which chimed. The doors threw themselves open- they were indeed hinged- to reveal truly _cavernous_ lodgings.

Obi-Wan did not even know such… _large…_ apartments even existed in the Temple, and for one so large to be occupied by just one Master…

Slowly, he strode in. There were doors in all directions, and he saw now that the wings extended along the sides of the corridor he was in. The quarters were unobtrusive, yet somehow _luxurious_ nonetheless.

It was common knowledge that Jedi did not accept gifts unless culturally obliged, and when they did, they surrendered their possessions immediately to the quartermaster as part of the Temple’s common wealth.

And yet there were so many… _trophies._

He could call them nothing else. Elegant vases, platinum cups here and there- a set of finely cut glass (real, quartz glass!). And, covering an entire section of a wall in a triangular pyramid, helmets of a peculiar kind, the metal glinting, with visors that hid the face.

He did not know what to say. Tapestries dotted every wall, and there was even one that depicted some sort of family tree.

Obi-Wan felt small and insignificant, with his meagre belongings- and yet Master Dooku had allowed him to take them here from the initiates’ dormitory. He supposed he ought to feel grateful.

“Your rooms are to be found at the end of the opposite wing. I trust you should find them adequate.” said Dooku, before beckoning him to follow in the opposite direction.

He led him along the left wing, whereas his own was near the right, and to a large, if narrow, salle.

“You will find a kitchen here, should we need to use it. This is where we shall dine, for I have little wish to partake of the atrocious fodder they serve at the refectory.” said Master Dooku, punctuating his words with gestures to the appointed places. There was indeed a long table, impossibly long, made of a shining, dark wood, with seats at both ends.

Obi-Wan could only nod.

“The two rooms you see before you…” and here Dooku pointed to two doors, one of which was dotted with memorabilia while the other was curiously blank- “You will _not_ enter. Not until it is time.”

“Yes, Master.”

_I would have expected such obedience and discipline._

…There it was again.

Master Dooku had not moved his mouth, but he heard the words. He looked almost quizzically at his Master, who, as if he knew what the matter was, stiffened.

Not letting him contemplate his position, Dooku turned on his heel, beckoning him once again to follow.

He led him, now, to the other wing, and Obi-Wan saw yet another salle, much like the dining area- only that this one was rather bare, except when it came to the walls- the walls were dotted with tapestries.

 _The Sacking of Coruscant?_ He frowned, recognising one of the many paintings. It was an odd choice, certainly, for a master to commission a painting of one of the Jedi’s lowest moments.

And then, at the centre of the room, he saw the symbol of the Jedi Order, the fabled starbird, enclosed within a circle. This was, then, a duelling ring.

“I do not intend that you visit the training salles, as watching others shall only serve to be a distraction. You have only yourself to best. The entirety of your lightsaber practice and training shall take place here.”

“As you say, Master.” Obi-Wan bowed his head, knowing his master would not like to be seen with such an… such an inferior padawan as he thought he surely was. Master Dooku clearly did not wish him embarrassed by his peers.

He turned up his head, to stare at the cold, hard eyes of Dooku himself.

“Padawan, you were broadcasting too loudly. I could dissect your every thought. In time, I shall teach you to shield yourself, and I can predict that you shall grow impeccable in the art.”

_Glorious. Yet another expectation-_

One he _would_ fulfil if it cost him his life. Master Dooku had taken him in. Master Dooku had _wanted_ him. And he would repay Master Dooku.

“As for your thought itself, you will _never_ think that again. Not while I draw breath. If you have any faith in my ability to teach, you shall surpass all your peers, and in time, myself. It is to that end that I have decided to keep you here. If nothing else, I will have your trust, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

He scrambled to apologise- only to find that he did not tell the full truth.

“You… you have my trust, Master. You accepted me, where none else would. I… I can only hope to repay you as best as I can.”

 _“And you will, Obi-Wan._ There is no need to fear me for what I am.” said Master Dooku, his black eyes growing _softer,_ somehow, yet again. “Come, now. I do not believe your tour is yet finished.”

He strode from the training salle, taking Obi-Wan with him- now to a room that was massive, yet completely _bare._

“Hmm, on second thought, I ought to have had this outfitted before I brought you here. No matter, padawan- this is where you shall train in your other disciplines, though how- that is for both you and I to discover.”

Obi-Wan filed the information away meticulously, storing it in a corner of his mind. Master Dooku hummed in approval.

He led him across the new ‘training’ area, as Obi-Wan dubbed it presently, and opened a door. Beyond, Obi-Wan was sure he saw the loveliest room he’d ever seen.

Sunlight filtered in happily through transparisteel windows on both sides, one of them looking down at the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the other offering a view of the busy skylanes of Coruscant.

The room was not massive- indeed, it was the smallest of all the rooms he’d seen- and yet it was beautifully decorated. It seemed as if Master Dooku had already moved in several furnishings, as well as memorabilia he did not yet recognise- and yet the Force felt so _serene, so happy_ arund them that he accepted every last accoutrement as if it was his own.

“I trust your room is to your liking, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan looked around, seeing that everything, from the few books on the shelves to astrocharts on the holotable had been meticulously arranged, either in alphabetical order or in order of importance, just as he liked it. He would not even need to arrange the room to his liking; he’d just add what he carried in to the same order.

“I… do not have the words for your kindness, master.”

Master Dooku smiled at him- a _true_ smile- and yet it was so _sad._ It was filled with an unimaginable sorrow he could not describe, and so he decided not to question it.

“Very well. You shall read my own compendium on the saber-arts,” said Dooku, pointing at the aforementioned datapad- “and I shall expect you to have finished it by the evening. Three hundred pages should be within your ability.”

_Three hundred pages of a difficult text, in six hours?_

So be it. Obi-Wan would be the best padawan Master Dooku had ever had. He’d meet his every last expectation- even if it began to be too much.

“Yes, Master. If I may, master- which form am I to study? I- I regret to say I did not have a preference in mind, with none of my teachers mentioning an express potential in any.”

Dooku observed him for a moment, stiffening, then stood tall.

“You will learn Form II, Makashi.” he said, with an air of such unquestionable finality that Obi-Wan would never have dared argue. Opening the datapad, Obi-Wan saw that Master Dooku’s discourse was also almost entirely on Makashi.

“As you wish, Master.”

* * *

When Obi-Wan woke in the morning after his absolutely draining first session in Makashi (when did Master Dooku ever let up? He hadn’t even been allowed a bite before bed!), the first thing he saw was the visage of his master, and it was the cold spike of dread he felt that drove him to his feet.

One never kept Master Dooku waiting if one knew what was good for oneself.

Obi-Wan fancied he sensed… _something_ from Dooku- something happy, affirmative- _satisfaction?_ He could not tell. His master’s shields were utterly impeccable.

“Come, padawan. There is something you must see.”

Barely seeing, his eyes still adjusting to the predawn light, Obi-Wan walked to the cavernous room right outside his own.

He could not recognise it.

Apparently, Master Dooku had somehow erected a full-fledged _obstacle course_ over half the chamber, with _extremely_ realistic depictions of all sorts of uneven and perfectly nasty terrain dotted across it.

_Down to the plants._

The walls were dotted with shelves, filled with yet more books to read- and on sneaking a passing glance at his own chamber, Obi-Wan found that his master had put more books there as well.

And of course, finally, there was ‘the locker’ as was the term among padawans, referring to the compartment in the training rooms which housed training droids and modules- and he had one all to himself.

Part of him filled with the old dread, that of disappointing his master- and aprt of him filled with something he’d never expected to feel.

_Excitement._

There was something Master Dooku had cultivated in him in the space of this one day; a desire for competition, to test his limits. If he did not himself, then his Master would do so for him.

He could not imagine failure, and so he’d have to work harder.

Obi-Wan’s resolve was needless, as Master Dooku proceeded to put him through his paces in an exceedingly vicious manner while he had not had an iota of breakfast and still remained in his _pajamas._

* * *

It was with great difficulty that Obi-Wan dragged himself, on his aching legs, to the Temple refectory. In this latest brutal sparring session, Master Dooku might as well have vaporised every tendon in them.

Gasping for breath, he hauled himself to the closest seat he could find, and collapsed. As was his luck, he had found the worst possible seating arrangement he could have asked for at this time.

To his right, Quinlan Vos; to his left, Siri Tachi. _Force help me._

“Alright, where the kriff have you been?”

“Shh, Siri. Be on your best manners- don’t you know that’s Master Dooku’s padawan we’re speaking to now?”

“Shut up, Quin. I don’t care if he’s under Master Whatsit or whatever. He’s still our Obi and he’s been away for a kriffing week since that duel.”

Siri smacked Quinlan on the arm, and the Kiffar’s grin turned into a scowl momentarily, before his face shifted into an even wider grin than the previous one, if such were possible.

“You know, I’m with her on this one. How’s it going, Obi, training under… _the Butcher of Galidraan?”_

Obi-Wan, who had been ignoring them purposefully so that he could summon up enough energy to indecorously shovel food into his mouth, almost spluttered it out.

 _“What_ did you just call my master?”

“You mean you don’t _know?”_ Now Siri had joined in. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be annoyed by his spitfire of a friend, as she was so woefully ignorant of his plight the one moment and seemed to know more than him about it the next.

“What is there to know? He’s one of the best lightsaber masters I’ve ever seen, better than even Master Windu, maybe, and though he’s a demanding teacher, the training’s been… satisfying…”

His wrist twitched at that moment, and his fingers went slack, dropping the spoon. Obi-Wan cursed.

“He’s torturing you, isn’t he? Don’t tell me he’s trying to make you a Knight in five years or something.”

“Maybe he is- or maybe he’s just taken him in for a new toy, after his last padawan, Komari or something just _died…”_

“Siri, Quin, what in the Corellian hells?!”

The two shared a look, coming to an understanding that Obi-Wan wouldn’t tell them anything of his phantom master unless they told him the full story.

“You’ve heard stories of the disaster at Galidraan just this year, haven’t you? About how a contingent of Jedi were put against the True Mandalorians, with heavy casualties on our side and a total extermination on theirs?” said Quinlan.

Obi-Wan scoffed. “Of course I have. What has that got do with… oh. He’s the mystery Jedi who saved us in the battle, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Obi. I still can’t believe you don’t know. The True Mandalorians are the stuff of boogeyman’s tales- the kind they tell normal kids who’re not Jedi to stay in bed and be good, or else they’ll come after you. They’re supposed to be the baddest of the Mandalorians, who are, like, the baddest of all kinds of people in the galaxy. They’re known for killing _Jedi_ in particular. And… and their leader, who’s called the Mand’alor- rumour says he killed Six Jedi.”

“All by himself.”

“ _With his bare hands.”_

They were finishing each other’s sentences for him now, and comprehension dawned.

“And your master, Obi, is the one who captured him. The Mandos themselves call him ‘the reaper of souls’ or something like that, while others just know him as ‘the Butcher’. Talk is that he’s got their helmets lined up on his wall as _trophies.”_

Obi-Wan could not believe it. A… Mandalorian- a non-force sensitive, had killed _six Jedi_ by himself, if they were to be believed- _but Master Dooku had killed far more of them._

“Thirty-six. My master… killed… thirty six.” he said, dumbfounded. His master, his wise master, who had wanted him and nurtured him where all others had passed him up- he’d _murdered_ thirty six men who were supposed to be among the best Jedi-killers in the Galaxy.

He knew his master had killed before, but… _thirty six… True Mandalorians…_

He did not know what to think.

* * *

The rest of the meal passed in a blur, and with newfound energy, he found his way to the turbolift, before collapsing in front of the hearth-rug that stood at the front of their door.

At length, Master Dooku opened it.

“I sensed your presence, padawan. Is something the matter?”

 _‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!’_ his mind screamed at him, but this was Master Dooku. The same Master Dooku who serenely woke him up at one at night for meditation and force techniques until four, and then began saber training without a batted eyelash.

Despite Dooku’s own attempts to promote the contrary, Obi-Wan was still more than a little scared of his master- especially now.

“I… I felt uncomfortable, Master. My… fellow padawans, they say things about you, and now about me. I did not wish to continue my meal there, not under the weight of so many… insinuations.”

 _‘Some friends they are’_ he could have almost heard, but this was yet another of those peculiar instances in which he seemed to hear one thing from his master, while he said something else.

“I see.” said Dooku. “I believe you will not hold it against me if I take a decision I have long put off. For this past week, I have lodged you and fed you here. It is my wish that this arrangement becomes permanent.”

“But… master? My- my friends…”

“A Jedi holds no attachments, Obi-Wan. You must learn to let them go. You may meet them when you have time, and only when you have time. If you wish to meet them, you will not lose out on the time that shall be spent on making you a better Jedi.”

“But what if I cannot find the time, my master?” asked Obi-Wan, and by the Force, that was true. Master Dooku kept him working through every hour of the day and sometimes, more than half the hours of the night.

“Then you shall _make_ time. Forgive me, padawan, for a lesson so harsh, but I believe you shall thank me in the end. I should rather you make a few small sacrifices now than some very great sacrifices afterwards. Am I understood?”

“Yes, master. Um, with your permission master, I don’t believe you have seen a list of allergies yet? There are many items served in the refectory that I cannot…”

“ _Have you not noticed?”_

Dooku had turned to him, and studied him with his dark eyes, which had turned curiously soft again. The _pain_ in them was almost tangible.

Obi-Wan wished he could say that he _had_ noticed, but he’d be damned if he ever lied to Master Dooku.

“I’m afraid not, Master. Clearly, my skills of observation need to be improved. I shall at once…”

_“Oh, you poor, poor fool.”_

_What_ had his master said?

_This is my damned fault._

Dooku coughed, and yet Obi-Wan heard the thought as it filtered across their training bond.

“The truth is, padawan…” Dooku began, and for how stiff he had suddenly become, his words were unexpectedly hesitant. “I myself have cooked for you and fed you as long as you have been with me, with the exception of today. Is my cooking truly so tasteless that you notice no difference?”

“No! No, Master, I- forgive me, but I didn’t pay attention at meals. I… thought it was not important.”

“Oh, Obi-Wan.” Dooku said, sighing, and Obi-Wan felt even guiltier. No matter how hard he tried to shift the blame on himself, Dooku was growing sadder with every passing moment- perhaps it was because of that that he grew more despondent.

“Have I been too harsh on you, padawan mine?” he asked, softly. It sounded as if he truly did not know.

_If this has not been harsh, I don’t kriffin’ know what qualifies as harshness._

Obi-Wan stuck with the truth again, but he did not display his feelings about how _unfair_ it all was. His Master was clearly in some grief, and he needed to be comforted.

“In truth, Master, while our sessions have indeed, been… gruelling for me, I believe their only purpose is to help me improve. I know I am still behind my peers, and I can…”

_Dooku flinched._

“Master, what is the matter?”

“Nothing that need concern you, padawan, go on.” said Dooku, trying to sound firm.

“But it _does,_ master- how can it not? Something I’m saying is hurting you, and I have no wish for that to be the case. If you would tell me, as it is your duty to teach, perhaps I could remedy it.”

“Obi-Wan.” said Dooku, looking at him now with the full measure of sorrow. “You are not hurting me, my young padawan, but another person- one I care very deeply for. You cannot prevent it, as it is a part of you, and I shall have drawn it from you as poison from a wound. Yet it shall take time. I fear that apprising you of this matter shall only rouse more grief within us both.”

His master, as always, seemed to _know_ something. If only Obi-Wan could share in that knowledge, he’d make it right, he thought. He’d help his master. He had to.

Instead, he bowed.

“I shall acquiesce to your wishes, Master. I shall catch up as soon as possible, and shall not, under any circumstances, prove a disappointment to you.”

Again he bore the full weight of Dooku’s gaze, and again he stood tall and proud, as he somehow _knew_ Dooku would appreciate. And finally, after another eternity of that immitigable scrutiny, he witnessed his master’s eyes soften again.

“Ah, padawan mine. I do believe you have made a decision I was pondering for me. I thank you for it. Now you must go- you will need your sleep.”

Obi-Wan nodded, before yawning. In the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten how tired he’d become- and by just how _confusing_ his master was.

Dooku witnessed him stumble, and practically glided forward.

“Allow me, padawan.” he said curtly, and picked him up as if he was weightless.

“But Master…!”

“If you must protest, protest by growing stronger, so that your old Master Dooku need not carry you around anymore.” he said firmly, taking him to his room and depositing him with an almost superfluous amount of care onto his bed.

Obi-Wan would have loved to have fallen asleep instantly, but he did not. He stayed awake long enough to hear another of those curious, _not-really-thoughts_ that emanated from his master from time to time-

_There. Arranged at last. Perhaps this should force the hand of that accursed, self-destructive padawan of mine…_


	3. A Miracle

**_ Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la _ **

**Chapter 3: A Miracle**

**_‘Rise, padawan.’_ **

_Mff…_

**_‘And so must this be a harsh lesson again.’_ **

Obi-Wan was woken with a violent spike of pressure in his training bond, and who should he find standing over his bed in the wee hours of the morning save his master.

 _‘Master Dooku, you’re karking insane’_ he thought briefly, before attempting to adjust his eyes to the darkness and wake.

 _“I heard that, padawan.”_ said Dooku, and whereas such a prospect would have naturally terrified Obi-Wan, his master seemed vaguely amused.

“’M sorry, Master” he mumbled, rising from his bed and hobbling to his closet to find his robes.

“I would have thought you would respond to the day you received your Kyber crystal with rather more energy than I see now, Obi-Wan.”

_“Whaaa- Master Dooku, you can’t just- what am I- no-! How do I-“_

“Shh, shh, Padawan.” said Dooku, walking up to him and laying a hand on his little shoulder.

“At least you are better than Qui-Gon, whose only response to this day was a puerile expression of how it was about time already. There, there, Obi-Wan- have more faith in your old master, won’t you? I am not as kooky as perhaps advertised. You are ready when I say you are ready, and I say that is now. Can you trust me?”

Obi-Wan forced his frantic breaths to calm. _In, out. In, out._ He tried to adopt the same, implacably serious expression he saw so many times on Master Dooku’s face- there, if he concentrated on it enough, he might just…

_Master Dooku leaned down and pressed a kiss to his brow._

“I trust you in all things, Master. I would, even if I despised the rest of the galaxy in full.”

What he did not mention were the helmets. _Not the helmets. His master loved him._

Dooku looked away, and as always, Obi-Wan did not intrude.

“Now off with you, Obi-Wan- I wish you to pack essentials only, as well as perhaps a few personal mementos that are of importance to you.”

Obi-Wan returned to the role of the meticulous planner yet again.

“Forgive me, Master, but I do not wish to bring anything to which I may yet be attached. I wish to become a true Jedi like you, and Jedi do not have possessions…”

“First off, padawan, I would be damned if you become an old coot like myself. Secondly, if you wish the _best_ lightsaber you can build for yourself- if you want not only yourself to like it, but _it_ to like _you,_ you are best served following my advice.”

But Obi-Wan wasn’t done.

“We’re going to Ilum, aren’t we, Master? I- I can go to the Quartermaster’s to commandeer a thermal-regulating bodysuit, perhaps one for you, if you would like…”

“Tsk, tsk, have more faith, Obi-Wan. No one is asking you to do _everything-_ not yet, anyways. I have handled what is necessary. I asked you to take only what is indispensable to you, with the addition of the little things you would rather not do without. Leave the rest to me.”

“But… but master… it hasn’t been one year under your tutelage as is _traditional_ , and even my agemates haven’t gotten their lightsabers. I- I haven’t yet mastered Force Serenity, which I need to be able to construct it-“

“It is a good thing, then, that we shall make several stops on our rather long journey. You shall have enough time to learn what you must. I expect to see you in speeder 112-4B in the port downstairs in precisely _seven_ minutes.”

A thoroughly unreasonable request, if made of any other padawan. But Obi-Wan Kenobi was unique in that he was willing to move the ends of Coruscant if only to repay his Master for the supposed debt he held in his mind.

He was early by seconds, at which Master Dooku turned up a brow. Obi-Wan could feel that his master hadn’t been expecting this, and puffed up a bit.

In meticulous, creaseless Jedi robes and with an orderly backpack, along with another bag of essentials, the only things amiss in this perfect padawan were his windswept, hurriedly-brushed hair and the fact that he was still catching his breath.

“Ah, the joys of an extremely powerful, overzealous padawan. Come, we have places to be” said Dooku, getting off the back-seat to sit beside the pilot he had hired, only to find Obi-Wan trying to wriggle in beside him.

The expression Obi-Wan sent his way- _I don’t want to intrude on your space, master, but would really rather prefer if you allowed me to sit beside you-_ achieved that curious effect of somehow softening his master’s eyes again, the effect that Obi-Wan had come to live for some days.

He had realised that his Master very seldom showed any _true_ feelings on his face, and his smiles or frowns were usually for show- when he _truly_ smiled, it was with his eyes. Obi-Wan had learned to pay very close attention to his Master’s eyes- unwittingly, he had himself picked up the trait.

Dooku ceased his efforts and patted the place beside him, allowing Obi-Wan to sit. They discussed the significance of lightsaber crystals and colours all the way to the Grand Solar Sailor that Dooku had marked to his name, codes and registrations made in the same runic script that marked the Master’s door.

* * *

“We’re not going to Ilum, are we, master?” said Obi-Wan at last.

“I would be surprised you had not realised it sooner, given how _ridiculously_ observant you naturally are, if I did not know that you had always known and were hiding this knowledge from me.”

“Sorry, master.”

“What did I say about apologies, padawan? It is the Master’s duty to teach and the Padawan’s to learn. If I make a mistake in my teaching, I will apologise to _you._ You, on the other hand, will make amends by _learning._ ”

“Sor- understood, master.”

His master shook his head in that same _fond-sad_ manner that he always did. They had spent two days in hyperspace now, with only themselves and Master Dooku’s pilot droid for company, as they were scheduled to make their first stop near what Obi-Wan guessed to be an outer rim planet.

His long, obsessive studies of Master Dooku’s impossibly detailed star charts (how and when had the man managed to annotate _everything_ in such detail, and how was Obi-Wan himself supposed to learn that) paid their credits at last.

Throughout the journey, Master Dooku had not been manically throwing him into viciously draining sparring and unrepeated lectures on lightsaber technique; he had rather forced him to spend hours on end in meditation and an equal length of time into _more_ meditation because he didn’t engage in the first session willingly.

He had also taken care to be as _unfair_ as possible to Obi-Wan, and complaining had only made it worse- not that Obi-Wan ever did complain. Oh, no. He rigged his master’s ‘fresher to produce only the coldest water and locked him out of some of his datapads, yes, but he never did complain. Yet somehow, Master Dooku always seemed to _know._

Of course, Obi-Wan had noticed this, and it had taken rather longer than he’d wished to realise that this was the _point._ Force Serenity was not just about meditation; it was to give oneself _willingly_ to the Force and let it guide one’s actions. For some reason, Master Dooku declined to show it himself, instead making Obi-Wan learn firsthand.

 _“Just you wait this day, Master, I’ll show you…”_ thought Obi-Wan, pleased at the prospect of seeing his Master proud when the horror struck him. At the rate he was _looking forward_ to some of Master Dooku’s often downright _brutal_ lessons, his fear of becoming a sadomasochist was coming true bit by bit.

* * *

T’oum Hagin, butler to the Counts of Serenno, had never thought in all his years that the young master would return to the House.

“Lady Kostanza and young Adan send their regards, Count-apparent.” said the butler, bowing low.

The young master seemed pained by his utterance.

“Please, T’oum, my old friend, call me not ‘Count’ or ‘Count-apparent’, or indeed add any title to my name. I am Jedi Master Dooku, and so I shall remain.”

“A pity, then, Master Dooku. One would hope you would come for a long visit- pardon me, but heavens, does Serenno need you.” the old Butler whispered.

“Serenno shall be taken care of; on that you have my word.” said the young master, with an air of utter finality. It was this, and only this that assured the butler of the young master’s words.

Surety was a value the Lords Dooku valued most in their family, and it was heartening, indeed, to see it present in a member who had been for long away from his family.

“Then what may we seek to accomplish in your… visit- brief as it may be?”

“I require access to my exchequer, T’oum. I have need of the finest phrik and electrum alloy ever bequeathed to me by my family. The ore gifted to us by His Eminence the Magister Damask of Muunilinst shall be the only sort satisfactory, I suspect.”

“At once, Master Dooku.”

* * *

In the ship, Obi-Wan found himself doing what he did best.

Master Yoda may say ‘Do or do not; there is no try’ but Obi-Wan found that if you _tried_ enough, ‘Do not’ somehow almost magically became ‘do’. Or so Master Dooku had taught him, anyways- and somehow, all of what his master said could not be more true when the information pertained to his own self in any way. He wondered how that was.

And so everything Dooku told him, he would accept. Never mind that he _wanted_ to learn how to fly and _wished_ to help the droid tinker around the cockpit, never mind that he _would like_ to do ignition and fuel checks when they took off, he’d peruse his notes on Master Dooku’s lectures instead and meditate _again_ and _again_ and _again._

Even though it was difficult for him, as continuous meditation did not sit well with him, he would still do it. As he thought, he needed to repay Master Dooku, in his own, simple way.

Especially as Master Dooku often went away days at a time, always leaving holos to work through, and Obi-Wan wanted him to see that he had been trying. And so he continued on as vigorously as when Master Dooku was present.

So he let himself drift off into the Force- Master Dooku had called it a wonderful sensation when one gave oneself to the Force, but Obi-Wan did not realise it yet- or perhaps he hadn’t reached that point.

He had been taught by a tongue-lashing full of virtuosic rhetoric that he should _ask questions_ of the Force, not _demand answers._ He should ask without expecting an answer. The Force would then lead him to the path that led to the answer, after which he was to navigate it himself.

As he could not do that yet, he chose to do what he _could._ One of the things that seemed most important to his Master was _focus,_ and Obi-Wan would proudly say that his focus had been improving.

He didn’t know if the others had _it_ too- they probably did- but Obi-Wan possessed a curious ability to decide what mindset would help him. If his anger was no use to him, he’d cast it aside. _Just like that._ If inquisitiveness brought no answers, he’d replace it with calm to give him the ability to wait for said answers- and so he did.

He paid no attention, therefore, to whatever Master Dooku did for the next five hours, releasing his emotions into the Force and shifting into the mindsets that would help him. _Calm. Peace. Sere-no._

Not yet- but he wouldn’t give up.

Master Dooku’s presence always helped him concentrate, didn’t it? Perhaps if he could just find Master Dooku… but his Master was inscrutable in the Force. His presence was _ice-_ nothing could be felt beyond. It is why he suspected their training bond would never grow to the full potential that other padawans’ did (far be it from him to imagine it was due to his master for any reason; it was surely his own fault)- but there was something about _connection-_

He gathered his senses to him, and _cast them out._

_Force._

_Oh, Force._

_There were so many lights._

He was floating in what felt like an ocean- some waters calm, some turbulent. It was not even of water, but of an odd- _string-_ of a substance with a strange luminance. The strings seemed to _bend,_ and from there came oscillations and vibrations- and as he summoned his power in the Force, the strings near him vibrated. _And they vibrated powerfully._

He navigated the million lights, trying to find his master- and he knew, despite how _very many_ there were, he would find Master Dooku. He knew that the light in his own string in this ocean was somehow connected to Master Dooku’s presence, connected by his own _respect_ and _indebtedness_ and _lov-_ no, no, he wasn’t to dwell on that. Attachment was forbidden.

 _“Master? Maaaaster?”_ he at first whispered, then trilled into the Force.

A light shone brighter than most- but not by far.

Obi-Wan navigated the currents, finding his master and rushing to his side.

_His master shocked him._

Master Dooku was not a tide or a wave, or indeed a whirlpool of power as Obi-Wan had expected. Master Dooku was a _fall._

A waterfall- no, a _string-fall._ He wasn’t very bright at all, in fact, and though his force presence was powerful, he was _hidden._ His core could not be seen.

This was the first time Obi-Wan had seen anything beyond the _ice-_ and then a flare of panic was felt in his training bond. The falls froze over, and _the ice was there again._

“No… no!” Obi-Wan thought. He had been so _close_ to success. He could feel his master’s trapped spirit, enclosed within his own ice, too proud to beg for help although he was suffocating.

_He needed a weapon to thaw it._

A cylindrical device came to mind- one that _thrummed_ with power that was his. Obi-Wan knew now what it was to give himself to the force, and as he brought forth oscillations in the strings around him, he allowed the strings to vibrate _him_ in turn.

_The cogs were in place. The mechanism was complete._

Piece by piece, he forced the weapon to come to hand. Piece by piece, the cylinder came to being. There was only the top left…

_“Impossible.”_

The star showed its light from the horizon. The ice gave way. The boulder fell off the precipice. The dam burst. All the metaphors he could think of, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was drawn far, far away.

He opened his eyes to the face of Master Dooku, and for _once,_ and expression marked it. The man was _fascinated._ His curiosity seemed almost scientific.

Daring to look beyond, Obi-Wan gazed at the air in front of himself and Master Dooku.

_There was the cylinder. Almost finished, except for a cavity in the centre._

_“That is impossible.”_ repeated Master Dooku, transfixed. Obi-Wan observed that his tidy hair was irritated and had been touched by the wind, but what he found most alarming were the pieces of metal that were circling both of them in the air.

“Master? You’re here?” Obi-Wan asked. For all the world, it seemed as if he cared not a whit about what he had just done, only for his Master.

“Well, padawan…” Dooku said, and that feeling of hesitance that seemed so out of place in his Master’s voice had come again- “It would seem you have mastered Force Serenity within the space of a single five-hour meditation, and have managed to almost finish the construction of a _lightsaber_ hilt without either the associated crystal or any form of instruction whatsoever.”

_Oh._

“Is that unusual, master? I mean, everyone else is going to have one, and I am sure there are many-“

_“There are none.”_

_OH._

The truth had forced its way into little Obi-Wan’s stubborn skull. Somehow, in some _small_ way, he _was_ special.

…He didn’t like it at all.

“Would you be so kind as to explain how you managed what I have for so very long regarded impossible?” asked Dooku, and while his tones were kind, almost convivial, Obi-Wan could _feel_ the burning curiosity behind his words.

The passion to _know_ was so intense that the embarrassing answer forced itself from his mouth before he could stop it.

“Well, master, I… I thought you were in some form of danger. I didn’t know where you were, and as your presence helps calm me in the Force, and I wanted to meditate better, I thought to find you. You seemed- _trapped,_ somehow, and all I wanted to do was help, and I don’t know if I’m getting attached but the thing that would get you out was just _there_ and I- I’m sorry, master! I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

Dooku had grown stiffer and stiffer with his every word, turning almost _white_ at the end. When he attempted to speak in that ridiculously grandiloquent voice of his, the words- they just _wouldn’t come._

“Master?” said Obi-Wan again, expectance of punishment forgotten.

_“You have learned under me for only two months. You barely know who I am. And yet you are telling the truth when you say you have done the impossible for *my* sake…”_

“But is that not what any good Padawan must do? Is it not their duty to support their masters? I am merely trying to aid mine, in whatever way I can.”

“I… I do believe it is best if you leave me, Padawan. I shall see you soon, I promise.”

As Obi-Wan scurried hurriedly to the aft-chamber where he stayed, he distinctly felt the impression that someone was crying. The only other person on the ship was his Master, but it- it _couldn’t_ be him, it just _couldn’t_ be.

Master Dooku didn’t cry. Master Dooku made others cry. Master Dooku had most likely sprung out of the ground, aged unto wisdom as he was to this day, always with that stone mask of a face.

Perhaps it was one of those queer daydreams again- Obi-Wan didn’t know why he sometimes saw things, and wished they would stop. He had once briefly entertained thoughts about them being visions- but he _couldn’t_ have those, there was no way he was nearly as talented…

Sighing, he crept onto his bunk and went to a difficult sleep in which he tossed and turned. He didn’t know if he dreamt of hearing footsteps come up to his door, with the feet’s owner giving a sniffle or two, and then retreating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is chock-full of references, as is the next.
> 
> Any who are able to identify the references in either chapter will receive a shout-out; and the first to identify all references across both chapters will get one o three choices (to be mentioned in the next chapter) as a Giftfic, if they wish it. 
> 
> I myself think it is rather an impossible task.


	4. The Temple of the Kyber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve gotten all the references, the Giftfic choices are:
> 
> This Chapter from Dooku’s POV, furnished with the nature of his return and ‘Taranis’  
> Dooku and Yoda after Galidraan (having ‘returned’ by then)  
> A tale of Ajunta Pall, his master and the Ancient Sith Lords (if you are by chance a Kintik Jen’ari in disguise like me)
> 
> The requirements are dropped down to *most* of them in this chapter alone, as none of these stories will be told otherwise.

**_ Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la _ **

**Chapter 4: The Temple of the Kyber**

When he woke up, Obi-Wan had been told by his unusually stiff and oddly red-eyed master that they were going to the city of Jedha, the holy city, and one of the original settlements of the ancient Je’daii Order.

He was apparently to read through seven holobooks of upwards of a hundred pages each in the one day he had, and learn anything he could about Jedha itself as Master Dooku would question him.

And so Obi-Wan had read and read, finding the work not quite as much drudgery as one would think. The desert moon on which it abode, itself called Jedha, was very interesting.

Jedha City was apparently one of the most coveted mines of Kyber in the entire galaxy, with the temple there, known as the Temple of the Kyber, being in Dooku’s words _“The epitome of what a Temple of the Force must mean, without restrictions, corruption or stifling incompetence to cloud it as are some others.”_

From what he could gather, it was not a Jedi Temple at all, but rather a Temple of the _Force._ Force-users of many sects and orders were free to visit, as long as they followed the way of the Whills.

Apart from the Jedi, it was apparently frequented by such orders as the Dagoyan Masters, the Aing-Tii, and even the young Chiss pathfinders of all people.

And that, naturally, had made Obi-Wan curious. Master Dooku needn’t have bothered; if there was something to know about a subject Obi-Wan found interesting, he suspected he would be notorious for wanting to know _everything._

A very large amount of slicing later (he was still mediocre at it, but coming up with innovative techniques to rig Master Dooku’s ‘fresher to the most unpleasant settings had curiously gotten better), he had received news that the Temple had also had a most curious visitor.

One among the Sith lords.

There was no mention of it anywhere, not on any historical text- it was one of Master Dooku’s unlisted commentaries on the subject that he had revealed while slicing into his datapad. No year was associated with it.

Obi-Wan’s mind filled with panic, and his first instinct was to shut it _immediately,_ and that he did.

But then he recalled Master Dooku’s teachings, Master Dooku who taught him never, _ever_ to be afraid. Knowledge of Sith lore was forbidden by the Jedi, and Obi-Wan was fairly sure he broke the code, but…

Whenever he mentioned the code, had not Master Dooku always responded with a scoff that he tried to hide with a cough? And if he had notes on it, then Master Dooku must have broken the code himself.

Obi-Wan reasoned that it must have been for a good purpose. After all, no one was as wise as his Master, was it not? Taught by Master Yoda himself, Master Dooku always managed to _see_ things others might miss. Obi-Wan had never quite forgotten how he had woken up the day after Master Dooku put him to bed, to find all the Mandalorian helmets gone.

Not only was Master Dooku wise and self-aware, then, but he also kept secrets from his padawan, while _simultaneously_ teaching him how to wheedle out those very secrets.

 _Force,_ his Master was confusing.

…But that was the point, was it not? Obi-Wan realised that Master Dooku must have _wanted_ for him to stand on his own two legs, to figure out his master’s mysteries on his own. Corellian hells, he grew _frustrated_ when Obi-Wan kept information he had deduced to himself!

And beyond all that, he still _trusted_ his master. And so, releasing both his frustration and wariness into the Force, Obi-Wan began reading.

_“Darth Vectivus the farsighted, a Dark Lord of the Sith who did no evil…”_

* * *

It was night by the time they had reached the Temple of the Kyber, and it was well that it was; in full light, Obi-Wan suspected he would have been flabbergasted.

There was _power_ here.

The very pillars that made the arch of the entrance were made of some smooth, unyielding stone, and through the Force he could feel _life_ from it.

And not only life, but _art-_ swathed in tradition, markings and engravings worked their way across all the rock, as far as the rising pillar that was the Temple touched the skies, with only the sixteen spires that were set upon its first level left bare.

He saw, now, why Master Dooku had forgone his cape and chosen to wear long-sleeved, flowing robes of pure _white-_ it was clearly a part of some unknowable tradition. He himself had been granted a grey attire, unassuming, soft; and with a cloak, this time, to match it.

The Force _sang_ here, it did not whisper; and the song was on one side a melody of sorrowful harmony, and on the other a tumult of tuneless cacophony.

“You can hear it too, can you not, Padawan?”

“Yes, master. If you would, ah, care to tell me, why does that cacophonic _discord_ persist alongside the harmony?”

“Ah, padawan, padawan. Here is the first lesson of the Whills: _both songs_ are beautiful, in their own way. If it was not for the apparent ‘chaos’ of the second song, we would never know the beauty of order that comes from the first. Beauty is nothing unless we have something to contrast it with.”

“Would we not know beauty still when we saw it, master?”

“No, padawan- nothing abstract is absolute save notions of order and entropy. Look _deeper._ What does the apparent beauty of the first song come from?”

It was then that Obi-Wan realised that he did not _truly_ know. Listening to the _first_ song carefully- it was a _pleasure_ to hear- he noticed that it truly was _melancholy,_ and it was from this melancholic tragedy that its beauty chiefly came. Sorrowful, soft, and yet _bright. Hopeful._ ”

“It’s the sadness, master. The _sorrow._ Somehow, it gives the first song its melody- gives it the harmony which pleases the Force.”

Dooku looked a little shocked at that.

_My word, you’re learning faster than a certain evil bastard with the potential to be a god as I knew him._

“Master?”

“I- you truly are insightful, padawan, but you do not see it yet. Trace the sorrow to its _source._ Where does it come from? Where does the first song’s source of beauty come from?”

And so Obi-Wan tried, tried to trace the melancholic undertone to its root. He wished he had not, as the second song blared in his mind.

“I… _can’t,_ master. I- I wish I could, but it _hurts…”_

He gritted his teeth, fighting the pain, trying to forge onwards, but the song blocked him. Every time he latched onto a note, it was replaced by another. Each note was as tuneless as the next. While the first was a joy to listen to, this was a _pain-_ but he’d do it- Obi-Wan always _did_ it. He always managed. He sucked in a breath…

 _“No, no, padawan, no!”_ said Master Dooku, placing his hand on his shoulder. Obi-Wan threw himself out of the trance, taking calming breaths.

“In time, you too shall learn to see the beauty of that second song, but you shall never savour it in full, I fear. Suffice to say that it drives the sorrow of the first, and gives it its beauty. And so are the Dark Side of the Force and the Light intertwined.”

_“Who taught you this lesson?”_

Obi-Wan froze. A figure, tall and masked in shadows, had appeared behind Dooku, his figure indiscernible. He held a spear, tipped with something that held the same power as the temple- _kyber?_

“One who has come before.” said Master Dooku, without skipping a beat.

_“To whom do you teach it now?”_

“One who shall save my life and yours.”

The figure’s grip around the spear tightened, and Obi-Wan felt an odd feeling of- _unease?_ It was as if Master Dooku had somehow answered _incorrectly-_ but that could not be. Not with how resolute and confident his Master looked; not with how his lips were set in a grim line.

The interlocutor tested his grip once again, before saying firmly:

_“What purpose do you serve by teaching it?”_

“To write a page with the ink of history unto the journal of the Whills.”

The grip relaxed finally, and the figure stepped out of the shadows. Throwing its hood off, it revealed itself to be a great Whiphid.

“The voice of the Whills proclaims you royalty, my lord Taranis. It is said that you too have come before, although I was not present to know when.”

_Taranis._

At the mention of that word, Obi-Wan had felt a spike of _doomdarknessfear_ from his master. His _master._

_Taranis._

“Who told you that name?” Dooku demanded, forgetting that his padawan was present. Obi-Wan wisely decided to slink into the shadows.

“Those who are everywhere.” answered the Whiphid unflappably, and Dooku subjected him to his tortuous scrutiny for the longest time. The creature did not blink either.

Finally, it was Dooku who looked away, and the _darkness_ receded.

“You may come out, padawan mine.” he said, softly. Obi-Wan did so immediately, and gazed at his master directly. This surprised Dooku, who had likely been expecting him to look anywhere but at his face- _ha! He had finally figured his master out!_

“You will no doubt have questions…”

“Questions for you to answer at your own time and will, Master. I am sure you are aware of all of them.” Obi-Wan _interrupted._

He had _interrupted_ his master, and were he in possession of his mind, he would have been utterly mortified- but there was a _voice;_ a _song,_ that bade him do as he had done. He could only guess that it was a suggestion of the Force, and Master Dooku had told him of these- he had told him to heed every one.

“… _Thank you,_ padawan. What I must tell you is that the darkness you felt _is not mine._ ‘Taranis’ is a name that belongs to one who is long dead, dead and gone. Little remains of him but a shadow, and I shall tell you of the meaning of his name- but in time.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. It was a gesture he had picked up from Dooku himself, and though it pained him to use his master’s own tactics against him, it was at least effective.

 _“The… the questions and their answers,_ I am not now at liberty to discuss. You too shall know, padawan, when your own student comes here for his _blade-heart,_ his crystal, if he does indeed choose to come here.”

Finally, Obi-Wan nodded. His master, looking oddly relieved, motioned to the Whiphid and they began speaking in a language composed of low grunts and growls that the padawan did not recognise.

Finally, the Whiphid seemed to nod, rocking his neck back and forth. He then threw his head back, and unleashed a great roar.

**_‘_ ** **_ÎMWE!’_ **

They waited in silence.

Obi-Wan took the chance to attempt a meditative trance- if only he had known how much they _helped,_ if only he had known earlier of the _strings_ and how everything was _connected,_ he would have taken to meditation far more quickly.

Meditation would not solve his problems; it allowed him to see more clearly so that he may attempt their solution with a greater likelihood of success.

He was not given the chance to ponder, however, as a brief sense of warmth washed over him. Opening his eyes, he watched carefully, as a lamp of some sort, itself possessing some blessing of luminance (in reality; it was most likely the Kyber again) washing them with yet more soft light; to his right, Master Dooku too opened his eyes, and a fond smile came to his face.

“Dobrûk, my old friend. And young Chirrut, of course.”

“Lord Dooku.” said Dobrûk Îmwe, bowing. The young child he brought with him, who could not have been more than eight or nine years, did the same.

Dooku winced- Obi-Wan figured out that it was most likely at having been called ‘Lord’- yet did not move to correct the man, which was odd.

“Have our quarters been arranged, as asked? And what of the brazier I required burning for young Obi-Wan? Places like this, they often bring out startling reactions within those especially strong with the Unifying Force.”

“I laid the oils myself, Lord Dooku!” Chirrut chirped, and Dooku smiled.

“Though you cannot see as we do, child, I sometimes wonder if you indeed see more than the rest of us combined. Do not rest easy, however- you have stiff competition in young Obi-Wan now.” said Dooku.

Chirrut himself laughed; his father did not.

“Obi-Wan? So that’s your name? Why didn’t you tell us, then? It does not become of friends to hide themselves away.” said Chirrut.

“I’m afraid I am not quite sure of that matter, Chirrut…” said Obi-Wan, trying to keep his pristine robes away from the excited child- “as I have only been here for upwards of an hour, and with you for a minute.”

Dobrûk snorted.

“Whills damn me if you haven’t trained another snob like yourself, my lord Dooku.”

“I assure you, I most certainly have not!”

* * *

It was a long way to their rooms, involving several imposing archways, winding stairs, serpentine corridors and no turbolift to aid them.

It was designed to confuse, and only the Guardians of the Whills, as the Temple’s protectors were called, apparently knew the way.

Yet Obi-Wan did not once pant, or gasp for breath, as he found the long walk utterly _fascinating._

There was so much _history_ here. Such _power,_ such _mystery._

So many treasures of fact, knowledge or simply precious stone were to be found that it overwhelmed his mind. He had been wondering why Master Dooku had made his choice for him; why he had taken him here instead of Ilum- and the truth dawned, as he never could have comprehended why before he visited the Temple of the Kyber.

He cherished his master even more when he came to the realisation.

Finally, they came into what seemed a main hall of sorts; circular, with innumerable levels visible above, and a floor carved of some odd, polished marble instead of the rest of the temple’s living stone.

In the centre there stood a great statue made entirely of kyber, that of a Jedi Master wielding his lightsaber, striking against a fantastical creature of some sort; a _Dragon,_ as his fairy-tales would tell.

Was it one of the great, fabled krayt dragons of that desert planet of which he’d quite forgotten the name? Obi-Wan did not know.

Fascinated by the beast though he was, the master stood resolute, clearly on the back foot, about to be crushed within the draconic creature’s coils and yet lining up what would be a perfect… _sai tok._

Obi-Wan never knew why he favoured the forbidden technique- maybe because it was a stroke that attacked and defended at the same time, and had something of a morbid stylishness about it despite its practicality, perhaps? But clearly, this ancient master favoured the same technique he did.

When they skirted around the statue then, Master Dooku discussing certain minutiae with Dobrûk in that odd cryptic code of theirs, he waited awhile and stretched his force presence to _feel_ the power within it.

**KENOBI.**

Obi-Wan jerked back, and Dooku turned rapidly around, catching the padawan before he fell.

“Leave us, please.” Dooku told Dobrûk, and the guardian nodded, standing aside. He looked at Obi-Wan meaningfully, and once again, the words found themselves tumbling from his mouth when he did not want them to. He really needed to learn how to resist that curious power his master possessed, but knowing him, Dooku would probably teach it himself.

“A- a vision, master. The Jedi in the Statue knew my name. It was as if he _moved-_ well, his lips moved, to say one word. _Kenobi._ ”

“Void-son.” Dooku translated from Stuujak, his brow furrowing. “Son-of-nothingness. I never did quite understand your name, padawan.”

His master fell into a reverie, so much so that Obi-Wan could feel the force churning around him. He still could not gauge his master’s own presence, but the reverie gave him time to consider the fact that Dooku was somehow familiar with the culture of Stewjon, his homeworld, and that he did not seem at all interested in how the master had come to know his name.

“If I may ask, master… whom does the statue depict?”

His master affixed Obi-Wan with a look of cold steel in his eyes, a look that made him want to reflexively turn away- but Dooku had taught him well. He held his master’s gaze.

“Fiore Furl’ano, foremost among the ancient Jedi Lords of the Old Republic before their modern descendants. He is far better known by the title, however, of Lord Makashi.”

“Teacher of the hand of Typhojem, Ajunta Pall!”

Dooku swivelled around to look at little Chirrut who had spoken, and Obi-Wan was terrified by what he felt from his master.

* * *

_Hatred._

_Unbridled Hatred._

Chirrut seemed to pale, and he ran- but not away from Dooku, no. He ran towards the darkened master, which seemed foolish- until Obi-Wan realised that the boy was coming to him.

At the last few steps, Chirrut began stumbling, and Obi-Wan rushed to help him.

_“Throat… it hurts… make him stop…”_

“Master, NO!” shouted Obi-Wan, and Dooku turned to him.

_Now he knew why his master was terrifying._

He was not merely a _fall._ He was an _abyss._ An infinite drop. Under the Force of such devastating power, Obi-Wan thought he should surely melt.

_But he did not, because he loved his Master._

And he was sure, in some small way, his master loved him too. There was some small part of his master’s heart that beat for him, or else his cold eyes wouldn’t soften as they did in front of him.

 _“Please, master.”_ Obi-Wan begged into the Force. _“Don’t do to a poor boy what you did on Mandalore. Please, master.”_

He felt like a fool. What did such an immovable power as his Master care about pleas? It woul never work- _but it did._

Dooku gave a gasp, and looked away immediately. Chirrut himself began gasping for breath.

Obi-Wan spent the time calming the child, giving his master the time he needed. Dooku had fallen on his knees, whispering some form of litany - _prayer? -_ to the Force that he could not understand.

They stayed as they were for a long time, Dobrûk rushing to his child’s side, affixing Dooku with a dark glare.

Finally, the master stood, shaking. He looked not at Dobrûk, or at Chirrut whom he had hurt; looking instead at Obi-Wan.

 _“Grandson…’_ he spoke at last, stumbling over the word.

_“I know you can never forgive me, but allow me this last lesson…”_

“For what you did to me? I forgive you, master. It was your love for me that stopped you, though you may not be aware of it.” said Obi-Wan firmly. “For what you did to Chirrut, and I have no right to ask this as a padawan- but you must explain yourself. Now.”

Dooku gave a bitter, broken chuckle.

“I have indeed taught you too much, have I not, Padawan mine?”

Obi-Wan only narrowed his eyes. This was his chance to help his master, and no matter what it cost him, he _would_ see it through.

“ _Explain.”_

Dooku did.

“What you must know, Obi-Wan, is that Lord Makashi _failed._ He trained an apprentice whom he taught of ambition, whom he told to do whatever was necessary to _save_ the Galaxy- and so the apprentice attempted to do, by becoming the first of the Dark Lords of the Sith.”

Obi-Wan stared, dumbfounded.

_Ajunta Pall, the first Sith Lord._

He suddenly felt fear, fear that the master of the first Sith Lord would have reached beyond death to speak his name.

“But that is hardly all, padawan. Lord Makashi, mistaken though he was, himself remained a Jedi, though a Jedi Lord, not a master, as that title was forfeit with the fall of his apprentice. It was in penance that he developed Makashi, the saber form as we know it, so that those who came after could fight and defeat the Sith of Pall’s line in single combat, if necessary.”

There was question after question Obi-Wan could have asked.

_What was a Jedi Lord? Did ‘Jedi’ and ‘Lord’ even make sense in the same sentence? What was the meaning of ‘Makashi’? Why was the ancient Jedi Lord Fiore Furl’ano - not ‘master’- called Lord Makashi? And who was Ajunta…_

Obi-Wan once again reached deep into the Force and felt for the _strings,_ deciphering that his curiosity was useless to him now.

_In, out. In, out._

There was one question that mattered to him most, one he needed to ask. And with the Force, he found it.

“Why did Lord Makashi’s name mean so much to you? Why did you react as you did, when you were reminded that he trained the first Sith Lord?”

Dooku’s expression shifted as he watched, gaze darkening, then softening.

“If I were to tell you the full answer, my _grandson-_ it would doubtless kill me.” he whispered.

_Grandson._

Yet there was no time for that- it would be addressed later.

“Would it… hurt you to provide me the curt version, Master?” Obi-Wan asked. _Asked, not demanded._

Dooku had a choice; he could choose not to answer or he could choose to. His decision would shape the consequences.

It was to the delight of the Force itself, if the weightless feeling in his navel was any indication, that his master chose to trust him.

 _“Hurt me? The words I speak shall hurt me more than you know, padawan._ Yet I shall speak them nonetheless, for I must. I am the _scion_ of Makashi’s line- the last of the Jedi Swordmasters. The last Master of Makashi. And by the Force, I do solemnly swear, I shall _not_ make the same mistakes he did. _Not again.”_

_Not again?_

What did Master Dooku mean by saying ‘not again’? How had he ‘failed’ once before?

“I shall start, first of all, with his.”

Master Dooku took his own lightsaber from his belt- with a curved hilt and an ornate construction, it was a beautiful thing; as he raised it to the air, Obi-Wan felt himself being buffeted from side to side.

His master was summoning his full power in the Force.

_And he crushed it._

His master’s beautiful lightsaber- _crushed._ Just like that. It shouldn’t have been possible- not with the almost indestructible material it was made of- and yet Master Dooku had something of an aid, it seemed. Some ancient power in the Temple itself had assisted in the deed.

With a great amount of care and a certain reverence, Master Dooku collected the still-intact blue Kyber crystal which floated in the air, approaching Dobrûk, who scowled at him warily.

“Please, my friend. Trust me this one last time.” said Dooku, and Dobrûk seemed to fight his own emotions- it was a look at Obi-Wan that sealed it. The man walked forward and collected the crystal, to Dooku’s hushed thanks.

“Thank us not; it has served you well. Whatever deeds you may have done, it shall be afforded a place of honour.” said the Guardian stiffly.

“I could ask nothing more.” said Dooku, staring at the ground.

It was only when Dobrûk Îmwe and Chirrut left them at their rooms, the former with a curt ‘Good luck’ and the latter with a frightened glance at Dooku, that Obi-Wan’s master finally chose to speak to him.

 _“Much to learn, I still have._ Yes, now I know what my old master meant. I do not suspect either of us shall get any rest tonight, Obi-Wan, and it is perhaps best to lengthen our visit by a number of days.”

Obi-Wan sighed.

“Being afraid of what you are will not get me anywhere, master, as you said yourself- so I’ll be forthright. What are you playing at?”

For the first time, something close to happiness seemed to cross Dooku’s tortured face. “It is merely that you shall not be the only one to take the trial of the Kyber day after tomorrow, my dear Padawan. Surely, you would have known this upon seeing me dismantle my oldest friend.”

And somehow, even though Master Dooku had been revealed to be… _dark_ in some way that Obi-Wan did not know, he was comforted by the knowledge that his master would take the trial alongside him.

…He still hadn’t figured out the ‘Grandson’ matter, however.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter shall be out in a week or so, if not more time. Obi-Wan's trial is a nasty piece of work to write.


	5. Ben

**_ Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la _ **

**Chapter 5: Ben**

“There is a reason for all I do, padawan, as you have doubtless observed- but that does not mean every last one of my actions is the _correct_ course, for I have no way of knowing. That is, for now, my burden to bear, but it shall soon fall on your shoulders as well. And so I must task you with this most important of lessons- to bear witness to all surfaces of the prism, for all is not as it seems to be.”

They were, by far, not the most comforting words.

Master Dooku had spent the entirety of the previous day in meditation, telling Obi-Wan quite specifically not to join him. His Master had been sure that Obi-Wan would not find solace in the Force that day, for the Force did not will it; and Obi-Wan did indeed find _serenity_ hard to come by.

There was an odd _feeling_ that set itself awash on his skin, one he could not quite define and yet _knew-_ and so he spent the day watching and learning.

To simply _observe_ the Temple of the Kyber was a wonder in itself, and under Dobrûk’s reluctant guidance, obliged by his timely rescue of Chirrut and curbed by the simple fact that he called such a sinister figure ‘Master’, he had seen pieces of history present themselves before his eyes.

He gazed for hours at statues of the Ancient Jedi Lords and their more modern counterparts; of the foreboding, unnamed statue that he knew to be of Lord Makashi standing as vanguard to a chamber in which he saw great figures of old such as the Jedi Lords Hoth and Farfalla, who lived six thousand years after Makashi himself.

And yet that image was not what engraved itself in his heart; what struck him most were the exteriors of the Labyrinthine maze which he would enter. The Kyber to be found within the temple lay in tunnels which went ever deeper; an impenetrable labyrinth to the lowest levels of which the Guardians went not as the Force was the only reliable guide- and yet it was the lower levels which resonated the most with the Force, filled with the most ancient Kyber of the greatest fortitude.

The upper walls were for all to see, and it struck Obi-Wan how the Kyber hid in plain sight. The Maze of Tunnels itself had a feeling of _power_ to it, as did the Temple, and yet there was such mystery despite the fact that the walls of the maze were not in the least hidden.

The Kyber itself felt tantalisingly close; so near and yet so far- and that, he realised, epitomised the Temple’s philosophy. And so he sat, refusing to see the maze for anything but what it was. He refused to fear it, or fear that he would never get out (for many Jedi preferred Ilum as padawans had indeed perished in the tunnels), and yet he refused to take the matter lightly. He never was frustrated that his goal lay within his reach and yet just without by the simple acceptance of the fact that it was meant to be so.

And so he had stayed until evening, familiarising himself with the essence of the Kyber. Although Master Dooku had not taught him, he had observed well enough; one gave of oneself, but little, so that the Force within the Kyber craved one’s touch yet again and thus _called,_ seeking one out.

Less is more, and thus he brushed the Kyber with the faintest whiffs, and waited. He could, after a while, feel a faint pull to the maze. It was utterly tempting to enter- but he did not. He resisted, and he returned to his master.

Meditation finished, Master Dooku had bidden him go to sleep, and yet Obi-Wan tossed and turned; waking once in the night, he saw the eerie sight of his Master’s eyes staring straight at him. He did not sleep much afterwards, under threat of the same scrutiny, and he woke before dawn’s light lit the temple without Master Dooku’s intervention.

His master himself seemed to have not slept at all, if the dark shadows around his eyes were any indication, but he did not look the worse for it otherwise- indeed, he may have looked better, as the harsh lines on his face that made it appear tortured the previous day had all but disappeared.

It was over too soon, far too soon as Dobrûk Îmwe made his way to their chamber, exchanged a few terse words with his Master and then swept off to the tunnels with the two in tow. It was not until they reached the labyrinth’s wall that he spoke again-

“For the apprentice, the path of knowledge. For the master, the path of wisdom. For the Revenant, the path of destiny. The Whills have spoken.”

Dooku nodded. Obi-Wan did too, and made his way to the first tunnel Dobrûk had indicated, but it was Dobrûk himself who stopped him.

“A master shall walk the path of wisdom.” he said, unerringly, and pointed to the second tunnel.

“Me… a master? There must be some mistake, I…”

“Do not argue, padawan, against one who knows best. Do as he says, I implore, as he knows more of the way of the Whills than either of us.”

“Master Dooku, we cannot possibly take the same trial, can we? It is forbidden for two to take the same trial at the same time, is it not?”

Master Dooku’s lips pursed into a thin line.

“That is correct, padawan mine.” he said, and moved to the _third_ tunnel.

 _For the Revenant, the path of destiny._ Obi-Wan had not paid attention to the last part of Dobrûk’s utterance- and yet it now seemed to make some degree of _sense._ There was always something about his master, always something- and he had the sense to know that Master Dooku would not be the one to tell him. He would have to figure it out himself- and he would. It seemed as if Master Dooku was teaching him to further that objective. So be it- he filed the information away yet again.

“A word of advice, padawan- I foresee that your trial will be difficult; far more difficult than others. Yet you _shall_ prevail. I know this. With all my being, I know this.” said Master Dooku, and Obi-Wan fought the urge to look down.

It was alarming, of course, to know that he would take the trial intended for a _master_ while he was still but a padawan, and doubly alarming to be told by Master Dooku who was _always right_ that his trial would be especially difficult, even by a master’s standards.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a padawan for a few days shy of three months.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had, in those three months, has sworn to himself a cardinal oath against the very concept of failure. _“All I must fear is fear itself.”_ he recalled from Master Dooku’s lessons, and looked up resolutely again. He had full faith that Master Dooku would succeed- Master Dooku _always_ had his way- and so why should he not succeed as well?

It was, in the end, not his own resolve but the touching faith of his Master in his every ability that drove him forward to enter the tunnel, as Master Dooku entered his own.

* * *

_Lost._

He could feel it in his bones. There were no two ways about it. Obi-Wan was _lost._

At first, it seemed as if his ministrations with the Kyber had been working. There was a distinct _call_ in his heart and mind, and he had followed it to the very end- and it had led him not to what he knew was the core of the maze, but past it and then away.

From what he had read, there would be twists in the path, illusions he had to overcome with logic; yet there were none. The route was deceptively flat and unimpeded, and led, as if it seemed, to a dead end- and then the call had _stopped._

Part of him felt as if it was a deception- as if _this_ was the test- and yet he could not ignore the call, it being his only guide. When he attempted to walk back on his path, however, he felt the call again, guiding him to the same spot where once again it stopped.

The maze itself was constructed of the same _living_ rock and sandstone that constituted the Temple of the Kyber, and yet the rock of the maze was somehow inscrutable.

He had, so far, felt no trace of fleshy earth where the ore was buried, the call leading him to corridors of yet more rock and sandstone.

As his sight would hardly be an aid in the darkness, Obi-Wan reached into the Force. He had seen it all before- the great ocean, the _strings-_ each droplet itself being, somehow, a string.

He felt a ripple in the tide, and there was a most curious phenomenon. _A standing wave._

The liquid strings had arrayed themselves in a stationary wave around him, luminescent and mirror-kin as they always were. When he tried to resist thee call, he pushed back against the strings that connected him and the wave- and it pushed back, violently so.

The wave almost threatened to resume its motion, to fall upon him and drown him if he did- _definitely not a deception, then._

The Force wanted him to be here, but it would deliberately provide no aid. So be it.

Obi-Wan walked resolutely up to the dead end, looking at nowhere but the blank stretch of sandy brown wall in front of him. Reaching out to it with the Force would do nothing, and he would not _command_ it to yield. He knew not to. It _would,_ in its own time, and he would allow it that.

 _“If I am worth anything, grant me sight.”_ thought Obi-Wan. _Sight._

None would ever have known what was the correct commodity to wish for- none but Obi-Wan Kenobi. Where others would ask for power, or the way to their goal, or strength and the courage to do it, Obi-Wan merely asked for sight. Sight that would not reveal the shadowed path before him, but would only tell him in what general direction it wended, so that he would follow it himself- and that is what he was granted.

A cloud of dust came over him, and he opened his eyes abruptly, desperately fighting the urge to wheeze or cough. He knew intrinsically that the sanctity of this ancient place must not be disturbed.

Tears stinging under his eyes, he looked warily around, for the source of the dust- and to his sides were revealed two _mirrors,_ mirrors that he had been sure were not there an instant ago.

He walked up to either, and they showed nothing, only a pale haze- not mirrors, then, as he could not see himself. He retreated, due to the apprehension that he did not know what to look for, and how to look for it.

 _‘Trust your instincts’_ said a voice. He did not know whose- it felt firm, powerful, and yet somehow _soft_ in a way. It was not at all resonant like Master Dooku’s, but it carried a subtle hint of power- power that would aid him.

It was pre-emptive, but Obi-Wan decided that he would have liked the voice’s owner. He did not know if he imagined it, but he half-heard a faint chuckle, a _sad_ chuckle, that was very much akin to how Master Dooku felt at times. He therefore repeated his plea, and made his way to the right mirror.

A long, cold durasteel corridor stretched ahead.

* * *

“When I left you, I was but the learner. Now _I_ am the master.”

“Only a master of evil, Darth.”

An old Jedi Master was faced by a Dark Lord of the Sith.

The two warriors stood perfectly still for a few moments, sizing each other up and waiting for the right time to strike. The Old Master seemed to be under increasing pressure and strain, as if an invisible weight were being placed upon him. He shook his head and, blinking, tried to clear his eyes.

The Master made a sudden lunge at the huge warrior, but was checked by a lightning movement of the Sith. A masterful slash by the Dark Lord was blocked by him in turn. Another of the aged Jedi's blows was blocked, then countered. With somewhat of an initiative, the Jedi moved around the Dark Lord and started backing into the massive starship hangar.

The two powerful warriors stood motionless for a few moments with lightsabers locked in mid-air, creating a low buzzing sound.

“Your powers are weak, old man.” said the Sith, masked and armoured in black and more frightening than any of his kind. It was not said with smug confidence or with an intent to taunt as the Sith were wont to, but a cold, logical statement of fact.

“You can’t win, Darth. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”

The Sith halted for a moment, suspecting- _something._ The old Master only smiled.

The hesitation was gone in a moment’s space, and the Dark Lord unleashed his rage, with the Jedi meeting it effortlessly. Blow after blow, he rained down on the old Knight’s defences, and they were all turned away as seamlessly as the last.

It was clear that the Sith was faster, stronger; and yet, he fought somehow _cautiously,_ with the old Master able to keep up despite the clear pain each parry was causing him, always with that easy smile on his face. All the Sith did, he predicted and countered, and it was likewise true for his opponent.

They somehow _knew_ each other; more closely than brothers. More intimately than lovers.

_“Now’s our chance! Go!”_

The Jedi stared to the side at the interruption, while the Sith would not turn his eyes from him.

The corridor somehow _shifted_ to reveal the presence of a young man- not yet in his twenties, with a shock of dark golden hair and an expression of concern on his face.

_“Ben?”_

The old Jedi looked over, exchanging a few more blows with the Sith. Despite his failing strength, they had fought on equal terms; it could be called nothing but that. There was something _great_ about this Ben, something _glorious._

And then it was over. The Jedi simply stopped fighting. Looking over at the boy who was now watching with a sort of mystified horror, the surely legendary master just- _stopped._

He looked at the Dark Lord, with his unnatural breaths and metallic, clamouring voice, and was not terrified by him at all. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. He drew back, shutting his eyes and pointing his lightsaber upwards in a salute. _Solah._

And before the Sith fell upon him with a brutal _sai cha_ that would surely annihilate him forever, the legendary master cracked one eye open and _winked-_ and it was not at his protégé, no. It was at Obi-Wan Kenobi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, my dear readers, but it is my intent to split this tale up perhaps a little more, as part of a series, ‘Legacy of the Revenant’. Therefore, we shall have to hold off on Sithy-Wan for now.


	6. Darth Exesus, Lord of the Sith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sithy-Wan can be quite vicious at times, I'm afraid. There is hence a warning for implied violence in this chapter.

**_ Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la _ **

**Chapter 6: Darth Exesus, Lord of the Sith**

It was a long time before Obi-Wan came to his senses. With a splutter and a choking cough, he woke, to find a mound of soft sand falling from his hair.

Looking down, he saw that there was yet more sand where his head had lain, and it was stained a bloody crimson.

What with all he had seen, Obi-Wan would not have bothered to check for the cut at the back of his head, but a dull throb insisted that he do. Finding it at precisely the place he expected, he picked up as much as a fistful of sand in his small palms would allow, dabbing it somewhat carelessly over the wound, looking to get it over with.

It was in truth not of a callous disregard for safety, but of the simple fact that what he had seen had made it impossible to focus. How could he?

He did not know who the Jedi Master, this ‘Ben’ was- only that he did not at all seem like him, except in the most subtle of ways that only Obi-Wan could know. The thought that would never leave him was that he had himself entertained the same thought, and would have surrendered in the same salute instead of losing his initiate’s duel to Bruck Chun- and yet Ben was not losing. There was nothing of defeatism or fatalism on his face- there was a knowing smile, betraying knowledge of what was to come that the Sith did not have.

He had never heard of a crystal-vision not involving the self whatsoever- perhaps another unique case, as was his lightsaber? Of that he did not care; he would pay his significance no heed as long as it somehow did not hamper his efforts to master Makashi.

No, what bothered Obi-Wan was that he had been utterly _terrified-_ and not for the Jedi. He was somehow terrified for the sake of the _Sith._

There was something devastatingly powerful about the old Jedi Knight, something that nobody, not even entities of the Force could forestall. It was not outward, no- indeed, he had for all intents and purposes seemed far weaker than the Sith, if not in combat then in the Force- it was the way the Force _swirled_ around him, bent to his whims, and remained utterly _silent._

This aged Master- this _legendary_ master, he corrected himself, for the same voice that had enabled him to see the vision told him so- wielded some degree of power _over_ the Force itself.

He shook his head. _Power?_ That was not the correct term. None may wield power over the Force as all are at the mercy of its will- it was rather he was endowed with some measure of _authority,_ with his actions carrying a certain _weight._ It was as if he acted as some form of instrument that the Force used to play a tune; only that the instrument had some measure of independence.

He finally had the term. An _opera_ _conductor._ If the Force was the opera’s composer, and the tune its current, then Ben would be one to guide the notes along their way as the instruments of its will played it.

He had learned it from the kindly Senator from Naboo- Palpatine, if he recalled his name correctly- who had made the time to visit Master Dooku in his apartments in the Temple itself. Obi-Wan shook his head at the memory- the Senator had by all accounts been very indulgent and affable, and was even more altiloquent than Master Dooku, with a deep appreciation and understanding of the arts that had no rival.

Yet there was something _cold_ about him, something about the way Master Dooku always stiffened before his face adopted a smile that never quite reached his eyes when he came calling, and something _hidden_ about how he never failed to ask Obi-Wan, and quite insistently at that, about the details of how his training was coming along. Perhaps, Obi-Wan felt, he was being irrational; it was most likely as he was naturally disinclined to distrust politicians as was Master Dooku, but…

Ah, enough about uncharacteristically friendly Naboo Senators. There would be time for that later- and Obi-Wan wondered why he felt so detached all of a sudden, able to recall people like Palpatine after a harrowing vision that had brought on a fainting fit.

What alarmed him most was his own traitorous feelings. There was no use denying it- he had _felt concerned_ for the Sith Lord!

It could be nothing else but a Dark Lord of the Sith. He had learned well from his Master’s notes. It was a particularly fearsome, as well- doubtless the victim of a great injury, if the clear respirator and mask was any indication. Above all, he had felt the Sith’s self-hatred, as he displayed and unleashed his emotions openly during a duel. It shone almost as terribly as did his particular hatred for the mysterious Master Ben.

And it was _wrong._ Sith… they hated all but themselves. This one hated everything including himself, and that made him doubly terrifying- and, most of all, he and Obi-Wan were somehow _connected._

To think that such a terrible abomination prowled the Galaxy somewhere was nothing short of chilling, but Obi-Wan could not… could not shake the feeling that he was worried for the Sith.

The old Knight had been about to do something truly terrible to him, if he had not been killed- but _no._

_“If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”_

He had not been about to do something terrible. He had _done_ it. The simple, casual way he had called him ‘Darth’ where none else would dare show the same degree of utter, callous _disrespect-_ the way he had _smiled_ as he suddenly surrendered- Obi-Wan felt as if there was a vortex around the Sith, and no matter how unimaginably powerful the monster was, there was nothing he could do against the tide.

Rising to drown him was the golden-haired young man. He and Ben were somehow connected- but so were he and the Sith. The Force _sang,_ once again, between them- the same sorrowful melody intertwined with discordant cacophony. They were _connected._

_And now the man would hate him, truly hate him with a vengeance._

There was no doubt about it. Ben had been a master to the young man, who had just seen him slain by this monster. The so-called monster would have his world torn apart, one way or another, whether or not it would be by the boy’s hand- and Ben had planned this.

It would have sickened Obi-Wan if his impossible _concern_ for the Sith did not- and yet the only thing that kept him from attempting to break the barrier open, somehow, and try to warn the Sith of impossible tumult was the fact that it was a _Sith,_ and he was unquestionably revolted by his own self.

Somehow, he felt that if the Sith was hurt, he would be as well. He did not know why that was.

It was true that the Sith was in _pain-_ in true, terrible _pain-_ and yet he drew his hateful power from that pain, and would have hated Obi-Wan for daring to draw attention to it- and even then, Obi-Wan wanted to do something to alleviate the pain, if only for a moment, although it would most likely get him killed.

His own treachery betrayed him. _Why should he feel for a Sith? A Sith more dreadful than any in his textbooks, even the most cruel of the ancient Lords?_

He barely _knew_ the Sith. He would need to train to _fight_ the Sith, not _help_ them! The thought was preposterous! If, by his death, Master Ben had accomplished some sort of grief or tragedy unto the Sith, then he was to be lauded for his sacrifice, pedestalled as a great hero and a martyr!

And yet, he decided, that if he had met Master Ben, he would not have liked him very much, if at all.

_Aargh!_

Anger swallowed him, a far more subdued version of the same self-loathing that had filled the Sith Lord. Obi-Wan did not merely come close to touching the Dark Side; he did touch it, and he did not care. He deserved the punishment it would surely bring.

He sought to find a way to prove to himself that he was still a Jedi, a good Jedi. He needed a way right _then-_ and yet, in his treacherous heart, he knew that no matter how powerful he would become, whether insignificant or peerless, if he were to face this particular Sith, he would not fight him. He could not- and that had no explanation.

It was part of a desire for self-validation and part of a principle of self-justice that drew Obi-Wan Kenobi to furiously chase his thoughts from his mind, drag his unwilling feet along, _will_ the pain away and almost smash his face into the hazed mirror on the left.

A thirteen year-old’s decision on impulse, and one he would come to both regret and cherish. Nothing could ever have prepared him for what he saw.

One thing was certain- he was no longer the same Obi-Wan. _No longer the padawan of thirteen years._

* * *

_“Master.”_ said the two figures robed in black, kneeling at the feet of their teacher and lord.

“Rise, Lord Mortis, Lord Fulminis. May you never bow your heads again- not even to me.”

They rose, and what was startling was the sheer _power_ that radiated off both of them. They eclipsed all in their radiant, devastating splendour in the Force- all but their master, who stood tall and unyielding as a mountain. The eye at the centre of the storm.

Darth Mortis and Darth Fulminis were brother and sister, each born of the same shadow and each forged in the same scorching flames of their master’s brutal training.

Under each hood was hidden a face, each quite the perfect human specimen but somehow shadowy. Darth Mortis, the brother, had a head of dark golden locks that flowed freely; lips drawn perpetually in a wrathful snarl, hand always on the hilt of his lightsaber, ready to pounce and kill.

Darth Fulminis, by contrast, was the ice to his fire, the cortosis to his kyber. Her face remained perpetually a stone mask, thin-lipped and hard lined. Brown hair done up in a tight bun, she was always in control.

Without their auras of power and their malevolent, menacing air, they would perhaps be confused for a young man and woman, each twenty four years old- but they were in truth storms, tempests, who existed to tear apart and _destroy._

And currently, they were confused.

“What wast thine intent, Master?” said Lord Fulminis, always the first to speak. Such praise from their master was hard-earned, and to think of them as _equals_ was never before seen.

Their master, Darth Exesus, Dark Lord of the True Sith, let out a rasping sigh full of anger and a thousand other dark emotions, though his control was too great to decipher any of them.

“Oh, cease with the formalities, you petulant prat. This is precisely why my irritation with you grows by the second.” he snarled, letting the frustration leak into his words- but there was another emotion.

_Exasperation… fondness… attachment?!_

Even Lord Mortis, ever wary, let out a gasp. He looked into the shocked eyes of his sister, who looked just as dumbfounded as him.

“What you have said, master…” Lord Fulminis intoned, carefully- “it does not seem the Sith way, as you have taught us. Forgive us if we are lacking in our understanding, but…”

“Indeed you are _lacking_ in understanding, for all of your much-vaunted strength.” said Lord Exesus firmly and distastefully, shaking his head. “But you shall not dare question my teaching. What I say is true. It is always the truth, and your place is not to question it.” he snapped.

“Yes, Master. Even if it is a lie, coming from your mouth, we shall…”

A blast of lightning issued from the fingers of Darth Exesus, striking Lord Fulminis and throwing her to the wall.

 _“DO YOU QUESTION MY WORD?”_ he raged, looking into the violet glow that was the ignited lightsaber of Darth Mortis. Not even the glorified torture that passed for their training in these twenty-four years they had lived under Exesus had reduced his protective instincts towards his sister, nor hers to him.

“Punish me if you must, Master. You shall not touch her.” said he, unerringly, preparing himself for the brutal debilitation that would ensue. ‘ _At least it will buy my sister some time.’_

Darth Exesus lowered his hand, and turned his face away. It was worse when he did; usually, on the harshest punishments would follow.

“Your entire life I have trained you; raised you. You believe I have tortured you for my own delight, but I am no sadist, quite unlike that monster, Sidious.”

“We do what is necessary, master, as you have taught and as you do. But please, do not hurt her.”

“And what of you, hurting me? What of the pain you cause me by your very existence?!”

“”You could have killed us at any moment, Master.”

“And yet I do not. I thought you more astute than you come off now- do not fail me again, Lord Mortis, do not fail me as all others have. Tell me- _why do I not kill you?”_

It was the same courage, the same damnable courage of his sister that drew Lord Mortis’ toe out of the line.

“Because I do not fail you, Master, as all others have, as long as you hold the death of my sister as a threat to me- and my death to her.”

Exesus’ eyes lowered, the stark golden not staring into Mortis’ but at the ground. An answer worthy of a Sith Apprentice, thought Mortis. Learning from Exesus often accompanied a philosophical discussion, followed by a terrible punishment if one did not grasp one’s concepts. As such, his Master could be unpredictable; sometimes rewarding the courage to tell the truth, sometimes bringing them near-death for it.

“An admirable answer, apprentice, for a Sith. Yet if I were truly as much of a Sith as you think me, I would not have allowed the bond of love between yourself and your sister to ever exist.”

Lord Fulminis had risen, her hand almost straying to her injured back before she thought better of it. It was true that they had been set against each other in their past, but… _severing their bond…_

“I could have had either of you kill the other, you see. That is what a true Sith master would do. I sense your thoughts- neither of you can fathom how you would react. You would _hate_ me for it, far more than you do now, and it would grant you more power to do my bidding. But not.”

Lord Mortis almost opened his mouth to speak, to defend that his Master was indeed a true Sith, and yet silence himself; for Lord Exesus seemed to have insulted his own self by saying that he was not, along with the instruction that they were not to question their word.

“Would one of us suit your demands as well as the two of us have, Master?” asked Lord Fulminis with deference, and far more political care than Lord Mortis could muster.

Lord Exesus _smiled._ “No, one would not- and yet that is what a Sith would do. I am _more_ than Sith, unbound by their _drunkenness,_ their slavery to their emotions. I have taught you _control._ I could have done as well with mindless slaves, what with how powerful you are- but you are _people,_ are you not? It is true that what I have taught perhaps clouds this next inference, but is it truly too much to believe that I _care_ for you two and your pathetic existence?”

Exesus turned away, leaving Mortis and Fulminis to look at each other in bewilderment. A conversation passed between their bond, unheard, and Exesus paced.

“And so, Lord Mortis and Lord Fulminis- I would _never_ lie to you.” he said fiercely.

“If you say so, Master.” said they in unison, and Exesus relented _._ The hard gaze lowered; the lightning on his fingertips ceased its crackle.

It was manipulation of the basest order, but it was still truth. Oh, he did not lie; he had merely reserved what truths to tell for exactly the right moment in the most insidious manner, and twisted them with words as none else but Sidious could.

“I am telling you this because I will have your trust if we are to infiltrate the construct known as ‘The Death Star’ and defeat Sidious who sits enthroned. By no other way may he be defeated. Neither of you know of your life and mine before I became Lord of the True Sith, only that I ascended to the rank by killing a member of the Sith Order.”

“Our father.” both of them said. There was resignation and acceptance in their voice.

“Indeed.” said Exesus, eyes narrowing to slits. “Do you know _why_ that is?”

“You told us that he was weak. He deserved to die, so that you may ascend.” said Lord Mortis, not skipping a beat. Lord Fulminis glared at her brother for his straightforwardness, but he stared resolutely on.

 _“Incorrect,_ Lord Mortis. It was so that _we_ may ascend.”

“Personal ties are nothing to the Sith, Master. The Force has unbound our chains.” said Fulminis this time, quoting one of his own lectures.

“And yet you are bound so closely to each other- and yet I remain so damnably attached to either of you. Call your master an old fool, if you wish; but these… ties are something to me.”

They gazed up in utter shock at Lord Exesus, who, in fact, _sighed_ for the first time they could recall.

“Your father was indeed _weak-_ but not in the way it seems. He was powerful in battle, yes, a paragon of might in the Force- it was the accursed _leaking_ _potato_ he was as a person otherwise. I was his Jedi Master once, you see.

I can recall every one of the thousand times he failed me. He was a slave to his own emotions. His puerile, needless, stupid life fizzled out as it deserved to, leaving me with you.”

Lords Mortis and Fulminis nodded carefully. They had heard insults to their father before. They were used to this- and they knew, within, that what was coming would be unexpected.

“By all accounts, I am a fool of the highest order, but when you were born, I saw _potential._ When I watched you grow up under my eye, I felt attachment. To this day, I do not know how or why I did it; only that I swore, for your sake, to not let you make the same mistakes as your father. All I have done has been to that end- and look at you now. How _magnificent_ you are. Sidious may be the most powerful Sith Master to have ever lived- but he is no match for the three of us. In time, both of you will grow to eclipse him- but it is not the way of the Dark Side to wait, is it?”

“No, master.” they both intoned.

Darth Exesus was all they had; the only one they could truly call ‘father’. His brutal, harsh regimens were the only life they had ever known- and yet he _cared._

_Did he?_

He _said_ he cared. Had he lied?

 _No._ Darth Exesus did not lie. It was ingrained thoroughly into their minds that bad things happened if one said Darth Exesus lied.

_And so they believed it. It was time to face Darth Sidious, Galactic Emperor._

* * *

It was with a wheeze and a groan that Darth Fulminis woke, body wracked with immeasurable pain- and yet there was the _slightest_ elation.

She did not know what she had done- she did not even know who she was and why she was here.

_But she knew Master Exesus._

“Rise, Lord Fulminis. Rest in the knowledge that you have avenged me and all of us.”

_“You… you… what happened?”_

Lord Exesus somehow _softened,_ his face betraying emotions apart from rage for once, emotions he had suppressed all these years.

“Your brother is still sedated. He lost his right hand at the wrist, as you saw- and I fear he shall need a respirator. We can only hope it is not permanent.”

_“N… no- what truly happened?”_

Lord Exesus turned away, staring at the white, distorted spectrum of hyperspace through the window.

“Sidious’ power was _poisonous_ in a way I did not foresee- but you did it, my apprentice. We defeated that slime. I cannot thank you enough for holding his attention and the devastating power of his lightning so that I could gouge out his eyes and _end him_ forever.”

It was only dimly that she recalled a thousand bolts of tortuous lightning rendering her unconscious, her brother charging in front to protect her- _Lord Exesus sneaking behind._

Exesus himself looked vindicated. The grievances he had suffered from Sidious were a secret he would carry to the grave, and Lord Fulminis knew better than to ask.

“ _How- how did you do it, Master?”_

Exesus smiled, sharp and predatory.

“I did it with my bare hands, once he had been appropriately dismembered. His heart is in a stasis jar in the cockpit. I would encourage you to come and see the marvellous sight of our vengeance, if only you were fit enough.

Fulminis barked a coughing laugh, not in the least surprised at the brutality.

“Then- you have won, master.”

“Not yet, but eventually, I shall have won. Thrawn is a capable admiral and a strategic genius, but he is held down by the incompetence of the moffs who have begun a civil war, as I’m sure. In this state, he will be no match for your brother, when he recovers.”

“A-and what shall you do, when you become Emperor? What of me, and Luke? We- we _failed,_ did we not? We were both incapacitated by Sidious. He-he was more powerful than either of us…”

“And you shall grow to eclipse him, as I promised. As for me…” Exesus smiled again, but it was not predatory in any way. It was- _sorrowful._

“I do not believe I shall ever become Emperor. That is not my goal, you see- I still fear I am not brave enough for politics.”

Lord Fulminis blanched. Was- was there another master? No- that was impossible. _Lord Exesus had no master._

_“If- if not you, then who, Master?”_

“Why, you two, of course.”

She could not believe it.

“Us? Empress and Emperor?”

“Of the whole Galaxy, yes. Quite a lucrative position, is it not?” he said.

_Did- did Lord Exesus jest?_

Lord Exesus had said he would not lie. This certainly felt like one.

“What of you, Master? What shall you do?”

Exesus hummed _._

“I believe I shall find myself a nice spot on Korriban, pursuing the lore and history of our order, unlocking some of the more esoteric abilities of the Dark Side. If you pursue me to have me killed, I shall fight you, mark my words, and unfairly, as I am cleverer than to hope I can ever best what you shall become. I do believe you shall not, however- you shall have better things to do by then, will you not? An entire Galaxy to play with. Do with it what you wish- I could not care less.”

* * *

When Darth Mortis woke, his sister would tell him verbatim the words of their master- and, true to his words, Exesus would disappear shortly afterwards.

The Empire fell in a few years’ time, Grand Admiral Thrawn, the de-facto leader, swearing fealty to the ruthlessly efficient Emperor Mortis, while Empress Fulminis reined in the remnants of the old Senate and reorganised it into a ruling council subject to their whims.

Though efficient, organised and based on indiscrimination, their new Empire was still one of Sith tyranny, as they had known nothing else. It was only that this tyranny was indiscriminate.

The Jedi were forever dead, and the Sith would live on eternally.

* * *

_“It is done. The Sith Empire blankets the stars once more.”_ said the Emperor and the Empress.

The aged Sith Master looked up from the creaky, old table on which he sat, moments before enwrapped in the greatest concentration with which he translated the texts of the ancient lords, Tulak Hord and Marka Ragnos.

“Ah, I see. Come to do away with your old master as is the Sith way, I take it? I honestly did not think you would find the time.” he said, wheezing a little. Long age had somewhat dulled the edge to his voice, but had not reduced its weight or power.

“No, Lord Exesus. We rule, now. There is nothing we expect of you, and nothing left for you to expect of us. We owe you this peace, at least, for what we now are.” they said again, at the same time.

They had found him on Korriban, wandering in old tombs and crypts. Though in this time he had solved mysteries beyond recognition, he walked still as an old man with only a staff of gnarled wood to support him.

“This is the last time we shall meet, is it not? You are here, then, not to do away with me, but to end the hierarchy of ‘Master and Apprentice’ as you are now masters of the galaxy.”

“I ask only one thing, my former Master. Your name.” said Emperor Mortis, somewhat audaciously.

“Your _true_ name.” affirmed Empress Fulminis.

Darth Exesus looked up and smiled- it was that same smile, of quiet vindication, that he had displayed only once before. He looked not at either of his apprentices, but at a spot seemingly between them, slightly above their shoulders- where he knew another set of eyes would be watching.

_“It is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mortis: Death/Demise
> 
> Fulminis: Lightning
> 
> Exesus: The Consumed One (lit. consmed, eaten up, preyed upon, betrayed) 
> 
> Sithy-wan still cares, after all. I did a bit of 'rummaging', if one can call it that, and found that there is no fic of a Sith Master Kenobi training Darth Luke and Darth Leia. If there was, why, I'd gobble it up. I would write it myself if I would not most assuredly do so in an exceedingly self-indulgent manner. 
> 
> Regardless, I feel Padawan Obi-Wan will need a rather copious amount of hugs and kisses after this one- no,NO! I did not ask anybody to begin lining up!


	7. The Shaman of the Whills

**_ Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la _ **

**Chapter 7: The Shaman of the Whills**

_NO._

_No, no, no, no, no, no, NO, NO NO, NONONONONONONONOONONOOOOOOO!_

_NO!_

_NO!_

_NOOOOOO!_

_This was **NOT** true. _

The Dark Lord of the Sith could never be _Obi-Wan Kenobi-_ and neither could the Jedi Master.

They had **killed him.**

They had both, in a way or another, slain the mystery Sith. _They had killed his brother._

_“He was weak. If only you had the sight, you would know that he deserved to die. He was a pathetic, mewling whelp- but that you are not._ **You** _are strong, aren’t you? Strong as I am.”_

It was a well-accepted truth that extreme mental trauma could lead to death- specifically so for Force-users. When caught in a moment of horror, their spirit could become lost in the Force, their bodies falling, senseless, to the ground.

By all expectations, that is what should have happened to Obi-Wan Kenobi, the once young and often-derided initiate, the now hopelessly overworked and padawan who had seen visions more terrible than any other in history for the simple matter of a Kyber crystal when, out of a corner he was sure had not existed a moment ago, came _Darth Exesus himself._

Darth Exesus- the Dark Lord of the Sith- usurper of a Sith Empire and unconquered in his time- was Obi-Wan Kenobi- or rather what he had the potential to become. This could not be, he knew it- and yet it was. He should not have stood there. He should have fallen dead, lost in the Force.

For reasons still inexplicable, _Obi-Wan stood firm._

“No.” he said quietly, almost plaintively. Darth Exesus gave yet another of his horrible, predatory smiles.

 _“No.”_ Obi-Wan said with greater strength.

“Intoning the same syllable will get you nowhere, boy. Force knows I’ve tried. If you but wish the power to _make_ it so, you must _command_ the Force, _bend_ it to your will- then I shall cease to be, but you shall have already _become_ me. Perhaps something better- but in the beginning and the end, there is and shall always be- ME.”

_That was not true._

_Obi-Wan would_ **make it** _so that it was not…_

“No, no…” he repeated the syllable again, but this time for realisation that he had nearly fallen into Exesus’ snare.

“You do _not_ exist. You shall _never_ exist- Master Dooku will not allow it. And I – I am not _you,_ monster. _I care for **him**. When I find **him,** I shall save **him**.”_

It was over before it had begun. A blast of purplish lightning burst from Exesus’ palm and sent fire coursing through Obi-Wan’s every vein; so terrible was the pain that he could not even muster the strength to cry out.

It had been the smallest, the tiniest display of his power, and Obi-Wan was thrown back, blood rushing to his head and body utterly _wracked_ with agony. He flew surely, helplessly, and would surely have been thrown into a wall and concussed- except that he was halted.

“Now, now. We cannot quite end the matter like that, can we, Darth?”

With what strength he had left, Obi-Wan turned up his gaze at the one who had saved him.

_“Ben… Master… Ben…”_

“Hello there, my young friend. There, there. You suffered rather a nasty shock, didn’t you? But we don’t have time, I’m afraid. This has gone on long enough.”

Exesus’ smile turned into a furious snarl of pure hatred.

“I _killed_ you, you old bastard. He shall never be as weak and pathetic, as indecisive and _powerless._ He shall _bend the force to his will- “_

“What is better, then, I ask you? To bend the force to your will, or to _become_ it?” countered Master Ben. Exesus fixed him with a steely glare, palm lightning with sparks again.

“The Force cares not. If you death is its next aim, it shall gladly send you to it. _I_ mastered the Force, _I_ enslaved it! And I, sightless Jedi, survived and saved us all in the end!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Darth.”

The old Master ignited his lightsaber, with no response from Exesus, who saw them only as tools that were beneath him. Obi-Wan could only watch, transfixed in horror, and they both stood in opposite positions across him, circling.

Exesus spoke first, as was the wont of the Sith.

“You see now, pathetic boy? How loosely, how helplessly you stand; how easily the likes of you can be… cast aside. Sidious and Vader will be the end of you, as you deserve, unless you learn to wield power, and to take it!”

“Then let Sidious and Vader be the end of you, if that is necessary, and you shall become more powerful than either of them could possibly be. Let the Force _flow_ through you, my young friend, and all shall become clear, in time.” said Ben again.

Obi-Wan wanted to say a million things- about how Exesus was wrong- _no, how both_ of them were wrong- about how the other Sith- _Vader,_ if Sidious was the portended Galactic Emperor- was not going to come to being, because he would protect his _brother,_ whoever that was- and yet he lacked the will to do any of it. The touch of the burning lightning had sapped him of his energy, and the conundrum of contradictions before him ate away at his sanity.

“I… need… more strength- agh…”

“ _Strength?_ So now you acknowledge what you need, do you not? Then at least you are not as much a fool as I once was. _I_ have strength. Through strength, you shall gain power. Through power, you shall gain victory. So, Obi-Wan Kenobi- what stops you? What holds you back? _Take it!”_ said Darth Exesus gleefully.

The Sith Master extended tendrils of his dark power at Obi-Wan, but little droplets compared to the vast ocean of darkness within.

_Take it. It is yours, yours to do with as you wish. Let others be subject to your whims. End all this needless suffering!_

_DO IT!_

The small padawan took one taste of the power. _One._ Exesus’ smile widened.

He then blanched as if poisoned, gurgled and retreated, looking disgusted with himself, and fixing a disappointed - ( _disappointed!)_ \- look of rejection at the Dark Lord.

Darth Exesus was not _Obi-Wan Kenobi._

Drained of his reserves, Obi-Wan could only look mournfully, pitifully up at Master Ben, who looked at him with what seemed a kind smile.

“Help me, Master. Help me… please.”

“Oh, no, young one. Strength flows form the Force, and that I cannot give you more than you have. A good Jedi finds his own strength.”

_-WHAT?_

Tears threatened to pour forth from his eyes, no matter how much he fought them.

 _Master Ben would not help him._ He told him to find his own strength- and he _tried,_ force knew he _tried-_ it just wasn’t there. There was nobody to help him. He was utterly _alone._

For once, just this once, Obi-Wan let go. He hid his face as best as he could in his small palms and cried. _He was not enough._

He could be neither the Jedi Master nor the Dark Lord- and they had killed his _brother._ He knew he had a brother, and also that he would lay down his life to protect him.

But… if he killed him… then perhaps it was best that he die here, alone and helpless, where he could harm no one.

_“Oh, Ben.”_

He heard the voice- that same voice, which had guided him to the vision, told him to trust his instincts, speak in the most silent of whispers.

“S-stop that. B-Ben is here- B-Ben is the Jedi M-Master behind me. I- I’m n-not Ben. N-not even Obi-Wan. It- it is- it is best th-that I b-become nobody.” he sobbed, still hiding his eyes.

 _“Obi-Wan. Oh, Obi-Wan.”_ whispered the same voice, correcting itself. _“I’m so sorry, but Ben is the only name I’ve ever called you, my dear, little teacher.”_

A feeling of _warmth_ suffused the entire Force around him, a presence of phenomenal power having unleashed itself upon them. The wall of hard stone that was Master Ben and the raging maelstrom that was Darth Exesus were both drowned within it and outshone by it, as the presence wrapped itself around Obi-Wan and lit up with pure happiness and joy.

_“It’s okay if you open your eyes, you know.”_

The voice spoke more loudly at this, and the warmth and _hope_ it brought to Obi-Wan allowed him to temporarily cast aside his sorrow, as he became convinced it would not aid him now. Whoever this was was clearly very powerful, and Obi-Wan wished to make the right impression- although he seemed already to be very familiar with him.

He could analyse the voice correctly, now- it spoke with what seemed an odd outer-rim accent, believe it or not, from what he had seen of Master Dooku’s notes. Carefully, hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

Before him stood a ghostly apparition, a form with dark gold hair visible faintly among the bluish hues, attired in an outfit that was black from head to toe, and yet in a cloak that was white. On his lips, there was a smile filled with infinite sorrow, the same aching. heart-rending sadness he could often feel radiating from Master Dooku- and yet it was much warmer, much more open.

Whereas Master Dooku was a fall frozen over, this man was a supernova- one that cleared a path for him and let him into its pulsar-like heart.

He held an odd sort of rosary or something similar in his hands, with a number of elaborate beads on the clasp of his cloak. And yet, despite the idiosyncratic appearance, there could be no mistaking who he was.

“You… you’re Darth Mortis.” said Obi-Wan, dumbfounded. Darth Mortis, the ruthless Sith Emperor of the vision of Darkness- _yet was he not there in the vision of light as well?_

“No, no! I’m Luke! My name is Luke!” the apparition _blared_ into the Force frantically, and Obi-Wan took a step back despite not having the strength to do it.

Memories ached across Obi-Wan’s mind, and his skull throbbed- yet perfect as his recollection always was, he recalled the same young man from each- and in either, he had risen to drown his opponents like a tide in the Force.

_Luke._

Master Ben’s brow furrowed, while Darth Exesus gazed at the newcomer with cold disdain.

“That name is not yours, Lord Mortis. You are nothing but the Sith into which I forged you- and as you are the apprentice, you shall speak when spoken to.”

“Look at you ordering me about, you willowy wisp. You don’t exist. What kind of constipation did your memory undergo to make you forget that this is _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ here?”

Exesus’ lips came taut in a hard line. “I see- then if I do not exist, you do?”

“Well, if I don’t, then I’m sure the Whills have swindled me in one way or the other. Damn robes cost a fortune in Force-power and headaches. And what in hell, Ben? You didn’t tell him my name?”

Dread, terror and sadness were making way for absolute _confusion._

The two very tangible figures of Master Ben and Darth Exesus were arguing with an apparition named ‘Luke’, who kept muttering things about “Karking Force visions and how they’re never kriffing clear except for old Sidious”.

And all the while, Luke was pouring warmth and affection at Obi-Wan, and defending him with a steadfast- no, _vicious_ sort of loyalty against the Jedi and the Sith.

“If _you_ hadn’t been a self-criticising maniac, we could have all lived together as a happy family, Ben- and don’t give me that poodoo about how you’re not a Skywalker. And if _you_ hadn’t bothered to exist as a concept, my poor little teacher wouldn’t be traumatised like this, in severe need of one of Chewie’s hugs!”

_ENOUGH!_

The command ripped from Obi-Wan’s mind, and it was _Master Ben_ and _Exesus_ who went silent- they obeyed!

It, however, had no effect on Luke.

“Master Luke, if you will-“

“Well, it’s Grand Master, if you insist on Jedi titles- though I’m technically the Shaman of the Wills now or something like that- well, look at me, babbling on, when I don’t think I could accept any title from you other than ‘Padawan’.”

_Grand Master?_

_SHAMAN OF THE WHILLS?!_

An absolute maniac was the Shaman of the Whills. An absolute maniac whom Obi-Wan had started to take a great liking to for no good reason.

And he’d asked him to call him ‘Padawan’.

“You… _do exist?”_ asked Obi-Wan.

“Of course I do. Is questioning their existence how one thanks another who helped them stand, rid their mind of self-destructive thoughts and forced them to think logically?”

_Oh._

That is what this entire scheme was. _A distraction._

“And they… they do not?” Obi-Wan asked again, thinking of Ben and Exesus. Luke sighed.

“Well, it’s complicated. One of them does- or did, I guess you could say, in a perfectly non-ideal outcome of this entire mess, while the other- let’s say he could exist sometime in the future of this outcome, but not if I, or indeed, _you_ have anything to say about it.”

There was no use pondering. He had asked merely to yet again file the information away.

“And… you claim- you claim _I_ taught you? A Grand Master of the Jedi Order, while I am but a padawan?”

“You know, what with how many people have lied to you, I thought I’d do you a favour by not doing so. A pity it must come with the caveat that you wouldn’t believe me. Force, I can’t believe all this happened- it seems you and my father would be a perfect fit for each other. Stubborn to the boot.”

“Then there is one explanation for this. You cannot be from the future, or you would be like them. An expression of potential. It follows, therefore, that I have gone insane.” said Obi-Wan, with a sort of resigned acceptance. He thanked himself that he had, at least, retained the sense to come to the conclusion-

“Don’t worry. You aren’t any further gone than you always were, old man.”

 _“You are not helping.”_ Obi-Wan ground out, still amazed by how frustrated he had gotten, and how detached he had become from the prospect of terror in front of him. And then he felt the mortification- _he’d just told off a Jedi Grand Master._

“Well, then, I guess it’s time I do.” said Luke, somewhat cheekily. “Gentlemen, it’s time you go home.”

It was as if Master Ben and Darth Exesus hadn’t even _existed_ while Obi-Wan talked to Luke, but he was now aware of them- both seemed to fight against an odd _barrier,_ calmly held in place by Luke. Master Ben seemed to be in meditation, searching futilely for the weak spots within the barrier, finding none. Lord Exesus was raging against it.

With a casual wave of his hand, the barrier against Exesus collapsed, and the Sith Lord immediately sent a bolt of lightning Luke’s way. A hand was raised, and Luke stopped it.

Exesus bared his teeth.

“Well done, Lord Mortis- but it shall not be enough. It shall _never_ be enough. Look at you- look at how much of a toll the Force exacts on your spirit for using it in a state of variable superposition- look at how even your terrible strength must wane.”

“Look at how adorable my little teacher is, and how a Skywalker is prepared to do anything for him.”

 _Green_ lightning erupted from Luke’s palm. Exesus snarled and raised his own hand, the green bolt partially deflected. Drawing strength from his pain, the Sith Lord sent his own hellish purple bolts again at Luke, whose ghostly form coruscated awhile, before stumbling, somewhat, in midair.

Obi-Wan watched the duel of storms, with Luke clearly taxed with every use of the Force he employed, though it may not have seemed so with how effortless his deflections were.

“Rule number one, Obi-Wan- you can’t fight a hallucination! I can’t hold him off forever, you see!” Luke said, somehow managing to sound both cheerful _and urgent_ simultaneously.

Exesus gave himself to the same darkness he embodied, the cold fury of twisted logic and paradoxes, raising his arm in a claw and directing the green lightning away.

“It is _you_ who are nothing, _Luke Skywalker!_ You are only and shall only ever be Darth Mortis! You are _my_ legacy, and I shall not let the lie that you are deny him his destiny!” he said, and Luke was pushed back, his own words seeming to hold true.

Obi-Wan watched the mesmeric duel transfixed, and it was almost seamless when Luke drew strength from the barrier around Ben to divert his efforts so that he could hold off Exesus for as long as possible.

In an instant, the Jedi Master snapped open his eyes and ignited his blue blade, rushing to where the battle was taking place.

In the middle of it all, Obi-Wan could only stare. At the duel, at his own hands, at everything.

 _“What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?!”_ he asked himself repeatedly.

There was no answer.

-

-

-

* * *

-

-

-

Then it came at a flash.

Slowly, but surely, he saw Luke give in, unable to use the Force when he had no right to it at this time, as Exesus prevailed. The Dark Lord tightened his grasp inexorably, and the Grand Master did not struggle, for it was futile.

Exesus probed; probed for his spirit, ready to extinguish it with one dark surge of his will, when Master Ben came upon the scene.

Time seemed to move slowly, and all was clear.

Exesus would ruin Luke, or so it seemed. The deed would cost him the time he needed to counter Master Ben’s lethal strike.

And so, Obi-Wan wrapped the Force around Master Ben’s saber-arm, and _pulled._

_Swish._

The strike came earlier than expected, striking off Exesus’ clawed hand. Both Jedi and Sith stumbled back in shock.

Luke raised his head and _smiled._ As if to say- “See? You’re getting it!”

And then the storm began. Master Ben attempted to rush in to finish the deed, but Exesus, even without an arm, was too strong, too powerful.

The Dark Side was unleashed, and it rolled off in cold waves from the Sith Master, who _covered_ Master Ben’s form in a torrent of lightning. The lightsaber could only deflect the dark bolts that would have struck the heart- the Jedi was entirely covered in it.

All the while, Obi-Wan sat back, cowed in shock, and yet entirely unaffected by the sheer _cold_ of the Dark Side as Luke had come up to him and protected him with his own superlative powers.

He knew Master Ben could not survive- he knew the Sith Lord would win- and yet he hesitated to help. It felt awfully like the duel between Master Ben and Darth Vader- no, not _Vader-_ his _brother.”_

His hesitation was well-founded. Changing his angle of vision slightly, Obi-Wan observed that however tortured he may have been by Exesus, Master Ben’s face held that smile- that same, grim, deadly smile.

_“You fool! You weak, pathetic fool! Obi-Wan is mine! Mine to groom, mine to become! You should have stayed dead, Jedi Scu…”_

It was only too late that the Sith Master realised his opponent’s last conscious act for what it was; every last block of the ceiling above them had gotten dislodged and now dangled precariously.

They were both crushed under the avalanche.

Obi-Wan looked at Luke. Luke looked back, with that compulsive grin back on his face.

“Well, that takes care of that.” the Grand Master- or rather the Shaman said, making a few odd motions as if to wipe ghostly dust off his robes.

Obi-Wan could only nod.

“Look at how delightfully small you are. Were we physically present, I don’t think Mara would even need to be persuaded to adopt you- and this is _Mara_ we’re talking about.”

It was clearly no use trying to figure out what his new, eccentric friend ( _was_ he a friend? Thinking about it a few minutes brought Obi-Wan to the obvious realisation that _of course he bloody was_ ) - was trying to say.

He instead could ask the only pertinent question he could think of.

“Who’s Mara?”

“Someone who’d snatch you and do this before even I could.”

At once, the breath was forced out of Obi-Wan’s lungs and his chest tightened painfully; and yet there was an odd _warmth,_ and _odd_ happiness.

It was with alarm that he realised he saw a set of ghostly, intangible arms having wound their way across his back, squeezing him with the Force once again.

_Was that- was that a hug?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insane, ignorant-of-temporal-physics, breaks-the-fourth-wall Ghost Luke is perhaps the most enjoyable character I have ever written.
> 
> Luke's green lightning is the force ability Electric Judgment, a light-side version of Force lightning that paralyses the victim similarly. It may kill an adversary, at full strength, but does not physically transform to the extent that Force lightning does. Plo Koon has it too, but his lightning is yellow. 
> 
> Padawan Kenobi finally got what was coming to him. Drink in the fluff while it lasts, dear readers, and your journey towards the Dork Side of the Farce will be complete.


	8. Quoth the Shaman: Nevermore

**_ Gar Tal’din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori’wadaas’la _ **

**Chapter 8: Quoth the Shaman: Nevermore**

* * *

“Ah. If my understanding is correct, that means you may tell me a few things, but not everything, as that is apparently forbidden by the Force.” said Obi-Wan, still wincing a little and drawing unnecessarily long breaths.

The Shaman of the Whills seemed as if he did not know his own strength in the Force, as he had nearly crushed the life out of him with yet another of his gratuitous hugs- he still didn’t like them by the way (Master Dooku would disapprove)- or perhaps that was the intent.

Obi-Wan decided that Shamans were weird- even if perhaps only this one was. He’d not missed how there was always a ghostly arm resting on his shoulder, or wrapped around his waist. It was as if the supposed former Jedi Grand Master was somehow _averse_ to the concept of leaving him alone even a second.

“Well- not as much forbidden as guaranteed to destroy the universe in a paradox of overlapping time if I did. Naturally, that’d be _just_ a little more than is worth risking to pull the rug from under that old Sidious’ feet.”

Luke had spoken of the Sith Lord Sidious only twice, and each time, a change had come over him. It almost sounded as if he were greeting an old friend- greeting a friend with an especially vicious intent, brandishing a metaphorical lightsaber threateningly. Then he would turn to Obi-Wan and look at him as if he were a precious object to be protected dearly.

Obi-Wan shook his head. Prowling Sith Lords could wait.

“Alright then- who are the Whills?”

“Oh, my little teacher. Do you know just _how_ much you are like him and unlike him at the same time? It makes me wish the temporal restrictions of quantum mechanics never existed, so that myself and Mara could find you now and run away with you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’d never leave Master Dooku.” he said resolutely.

Luke shook his head, somewhat tiredly.

“You know the only reason Master Dooku took you as his padawan is because of me, right?”

“Well, how was I supposed to- oh, now that you mention it, it does make a disturbing amount of sense- because you’re, well, _you.”_

Luke chuckled fondly.

“Time to return to the original question. The Ancient Order of the Whills is a holy order spread across the Galaxy, dedicated to following and preserving the way of the Force. We are all instruments of its will, and senior members of the order are Shamans.” he said.

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed.

“You said you were _the_ Shaman.”

“That’s because I am. The Order’s claws are sunk deeply into the Galaxy, but we never reveal who we are. Dobrûk and Chirrut, for example. I believe you’d find your home planet quite enlightening on the matter as well.”

Obi-Wan gulped. He had not thought of Stewjon in a long, _long_ time- he didn’t even know Stuujak, except for a few words, and had met no Stuukeni as its people were called. To know that the Whills had an influence there meant he’d have to investigate it sometimes- so long for his wish to never have returned to his birthplace.

He still recalled the rushing, drowning currents of the cold mountain river, stretching forth to take him forever. _Obi-W-an-Ken-obi._ “Nothing, child of nothing.”

“Force, why is everyone always mistranslating everything? I’ve pored over Stuujak a good deal- nasty, complicated language, that- it actually means ‘Cosmos, son of the Void’. An ancient and arcane name- one that gives testament to the fact that you weren’t named by your parents, but by a Whill. Your name bears the mark of the Unifying Force- it marks you as the _son_ of the Unifying Force. You were never _unwanted,_ Obi-Wan, and your parents never should have tried to drown you- but they were _scared,_ you see. Scared after a Whill named you against their will, after which you would respond to no other.”

And Luke _had_ to do it. The light mood was utterly destroyed, forcing Obi-Wan to reconsider emotions he had suppressed for years.

“A… Whill named me? My… I never knew my parents, and I always knew they weren’t called _Kenobi-_ who would, now that you think about it- but to see that it means… _something…_ ”

Obi-Wan silenced himself, his mind warning him of the insight that Luke would give him another oppressively _powerful_ hug if he continued in this vein. He changed the subject immediately.

“You still haven’t answered my question- and how do you _know_ all this about me?”

Luke’s eyes shone. “Ah, now that you mention it, I didn’t get to the original point. The leaders of our Order are the Force Priestesses- godlike beings of the _balanced force._ They orchestrate the will of the both the Light and Dark.”

Obi-Wan could only stare- and yet he was not, somehow, surprised. _There are gods,_ he thought, _and **of course** Luke Skywalker is their dinner party guest or something. _

“Orchestrate, you said. So they control the Force?”

“No, it’s not quite that simple. Using a mathematical analogy, you can say they are those who derive the applications of a theorem, but not those who made the theorem in the first place. That distinction belongs to a race that purposely died out billions of years ago so that they could merge into what we know today as the Force.”

“You mean to say the Force itself is somehow _sapient,_ not just having its own will as we are taught- but that the Priestesses are the ones who decide where the Force flows and how it works to accomplish its aims?”

“Decides? No. It’s up to them to _interpret_ the will of the Force, and to _suggest_ applications of its power. I am known as _The_ Shaman because I work directly with them.”

“Where do they live? How are they like?” Obi-Wan’s treacherous mouth spluttered out before he could restrain himself.

“I can’t tell you where they live, so I’ll say it’s on about the freakiest planet in the second-freakiest place in the Galaxy, barring the unknown regions. As for how they’re like, they’re incorrigible meddlers who always seem to vaguely annoy me for some reason.” said Luke, not even batting an eyelash.

_Now this was too much._

“I can’t believe I’m talking to a Force-apparition who first described a bunch of quasi-gods as _annoying._ ”

“You really shouldn’t know some of this stuff, you know? And yet the Priestesses _like_ you for some reason. They _want_ you to know this, as my head is pounding at me with insufferable sing-song voices.”

Obi-Wan looked down. The consequences of his actions- little, indaequate Obi-Wan's actions mattered to _gods-_ but Luke had not lost any of his humour despite this pronouncement, and he _did not_ lie. He somehow felt as if Luke Skywalker was mentally incapable of lying to him in especial.

“How did you come to be their Shaman in the first place?” Obi-Wan asked, looking to wheedle out the answer to another question entirely- ‘How could you be from the future?’

Luke saw right through him.

“There’s a bit of a concept, Obi-Wan, that there are multiple parallel universes apart from our own, with a new universe being formed every time a decision of freewill is made. I still don’t know how it works, but the Force is _non-linear,_ and neither is time. The, uh… _time_ I existed in had you as Master Ben, and- well, it did not end well for either you or me.”

“What of Master Dooku?” he asked immediately. Luke winced.

“Can’t tell you that, I’m afraid- but I’ll say that I graduated to a Jedi Knight, trained officially by two Masters- Master Yoda and yourself. Sidious was defeated, and I became the new Jedi Grand Master, reforming the Order. I gained powers many here could only dream of- not that I’m boasting, as I needed them. Trouble always found me, for some reason.

There were, um, a couple more wars I still can’t tell you about- death, destruction, all of that- so all in all, one of the worst outcomes possible. And yet, I finally felt I had a happy ending.”

Obi-Wan cautiously examined his brow.

“So you _are_ from the future, and the future exists in another way I don’t know of. Does that mean Master Ben- and Darth Exesus, by definition- do they exist as well?”

Luke softened. “I didn’t lie to you, Obi-Wan. They may exist- but not in a form I know of. Various spirits of dead Jedi Masters do exist, but they cannot interact with the Force of _your_ time, as it is part of the split thread that makes the plane- similar, yet fundamentally different. I can only do so with great strain.”

“Oh. So we don’t know anything about who we are, what we truly mean, and what the kriff all this time-travel is?”

“I rather like it, actually. Optimistic Nihilism- it allows you to feel what you wish to feel, allot importance to things the way you’d like. Anyways, as you’d guessed, it all went _wrong._ ”

“Again?” asked Obi-Wan. “I don’t mean to upset you, but you seem to act as if everything that could go wrong went wrong _in the first place.”_

Luke choked back what seemed like a bitter laugh. It was so like one of those short barks of sardonic laughter and muffled sorrow that Master Dooku released when he thought Obi-Wan wasn’t listening that the padawan almost felt inclined to let Luke hug him again.

“ _The Force hadn’t been destroyed the first time.”_ said Luke, and Obi-Wan stumbled in shock.

“I’m sorry, my dear teacher, but I must say this. It wasn’t the power of Sith Lords, Alien Invaders or Eldritch entities that did it. It was base human greed. It would happen in a thousand years, two thousand, ten- and yet it _did._ The visions were clear in that, and when I eventually found the- ah, freaky planet, the Force Priestesses didn’t deny it.”

“What happened?” asked Obi-Wan. He _knew,_ now, what it was to have a true Force Vision. It always felt _real-_ as real as he had been on the verge of crying tears and was unable, as he saw through the eyes of Master Ben and Darth Exesus. He’d be dead if Luke hadn’t shouldered some of the pain for him. At least he could share some of the Shaman’s pain.

“No, Obi-Wan, no. I wouldn’t do that to you. I can’t _show_ you- I don’t want to change who you are. I can, however, tell you.

It began with the Kuat Drive Yards, which had absorbed prevalent companies of the time such as Sienar Systems, all offshoots of the Techno Union you know today. The Kuats developed for millennia a formula that would excise the influence of the Force from the galaxy to secure their business and power- who advised them on the matter, I don’t know.

Slowly, it would be distributed among the Galaxy’s food and Drink. Force users would become increasingly rare. The will of the Living Force would wane, with the Cosmic taking precedence.”

“And that would mean war.” said Obi-Wan, finishing the sentence. The Cosmic Force was the part that entailed the grand scheme, the great plan. The Grand Design for the Galaxy at large- and the quickest way to accomplish such aims was war.

“Yes, Obi-Wan. A war that would not be guided by the Force. A war waged on the merits of Technology alone. The Kuat Corporation would eventually be destroyed, with individual stakeholders raising themselves to positions of lordship over several planets- and without Force-users to check them, they’d _conquer and conquer._

The Priestesses would lose their power. The Living Force would become meaningless, and the Cosmic would have eventually accomplished its aim of balance- and yet in the most twisted kind. The Cosmic Force is the unfeeling part of the Force- if balance was achieved, what would _it_ care if the Galaxy was ruled by the tyranny of a ruthless Technocracy? And it would never end, until one too many advances in technology were made, until all life on the Galaxy was destroyed.”

“I see.”

That is all Obi-Wan could say. _“I see.”_

His presence was crushed again, in Luke’s unfathomably powerful grasp- but Luke did not seek comfort; he only gave it. Luke was strong, strong in a way Obi-Wan knew he would have to become.

“Why didn’t you live on, then? Why didn’t you try to prevent it?”

“The Vision cost me my life, Obi-Wan.” said Luke, as if he were talking about a mundane matter.

_“What?!”_

Luke only smiled sadly.

_“How could that happen? You- the brightest light in the Force I have ever seen…”_

“It was partly my fault, actually. I began paying an unhealthy amount of attention to vague quantum mechanical operations later on in my life. I came across one of the theories that answers the information paradox, that there existed an imprint of the universe, as we know it, within the ergosphere of a Black Hole. There could be information about times gone by and times to come, as perhaps a photon under the Black Hole’s angular momentum could maybe only very slightly surpass the speed of light. As such, I- ah, tested the theory, having the skills necessary to pilot a ship _just_ this close to the event horizon. I reached out with the Force to examine the ergosphere, and, well...”

 _“AND GOT KRIFFING SUCKED IN. HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!”_ Obi-Wan yelled at him.

“Funny, I thought you were born incapable of swearing. You can always gently admonish me for my stupidity and hug me afterwards, you know.” said Luke, in a manner that was entirely too blasé for anyone who had died in _that_ manner.

Obi-Wan was beyond furious. He dove deep into the Force, furiously casting away his emotions to feel for the strings again. _He needed to do this._

He found them as easily as a harpist strums his instrument, and _pushed._

“Oww! Oof, Obi-Wan, what by Malachor did you punch me for?” the Ghost said in a voice that seemed somehow awed and somehow… _whiny_ at the same time.

“You deserved that.”

“Eh, I probably deserve far worse, but coming from _you…”_ Luke made the most pitiful expression, with the widest, saddest eyes.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You fool no one.”

Luke looked oddly impressed again. “It worked on a Dark Lord of the Sith and somehow not on Obi-Wan Kenobi. Ah, well. What matters is that the Whills guided my spirit to the freaky planet and its freaky inhabitants, once it was free. The Priestesses then told me all about you and some others I wanted to know of. I had several enjoyable chats about a certain Mandalorian Duchess, of whom they were eager to speak, for some reason.”

_“Mandalorian- what?”_

“You’ll see.” said Luke, and his smile was entirely insincere. “Anyways, I was taught some of the more esoteric powers of the Force- how to abuse the principle of superposition, for example.”

“And?” asked Obi-Wan, somewhat impatiently.

“Poof. Time-travel. My excuse to send someone back to change the bloody mess- and that’s how you’re in _this_ bloody mess, to solve the former one in which I was.”

And finally, two and two were put together.

“It’s Master Dooku who came back, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan asked, voice barely a whisper.

 _That-_ that explained _a lot._

“Don’t feel sad, my dear teacher. Even if he didn’t originally take you as his padawan, I assure you _I_ would have, had I somehow been a Jedi Master at the time- I still would have had I not known who you were. You- you’re too good, too pure and entirely too adorable to be left alone like that.”

Obi-Wan still couldn’t overcome his sadness, try as he might.

_“He… he didn’t take me because I… he wouldn’t have taken me if I didn’t…”_

Now this was an unfair tactic. Every time he tried to mouth a sorrow, Luke would simply force the air out of his lungs with another of his ridiculous hugs.

It was only mid-protest that Obi-Wan managed to realise the value of the hug.

_It was meant to make him feel wanted. Luke made him feel wanted- no, Luke was truly attached to Obi-Wan; Obi-Wan Kenobi the padawan, not just Master Ben.”_

“He’s still learning, Obi-Wan. He still is learning about the value you intrinsically have. Everyone will, in time.”

The words made Obi-Wan feel a little better. Master Dooku may be _dark,_ in a way- Luke did not seem at liberty to tell how- and he may have taken Obi-Wan as a padawan for prudential reasons only, but he still did _love_ him.

He would not have chosen to take the trial alongside him; would not have spared Chirrut if he did not.

“So- why Master Dooku, then, if he must still learn? Wasn’t there someone who already _knew_ that could be sent back? I love my master, but- isn’t it too much of a responsibility to…”

Luke _frowned._ The expression looked so odd, so out of place on his visage that Obi-Wan knew he didn’t frown often.

“That’s because he wasn’t _meant_ to be sent back. I would have sent myself back, had superposition allowed it. The technique is to meld together the force essence of whom the chosen person was at the given time and whom he was at the chosen time he would transition, so that he would keep the memories of his future self. It is the closest to time-travel one can really accomplish within temporal laws.”

“Then who was your original candidate?” asked Obi-Wan.

“Well, it couldn’t be me, as I couldn’t do enough to guarantee a change after I was born. The time for it had long since passed. It would have to be someone who could effect that change, and at the correct time- and so, Obi-Wan, my candidate was _you._ ”

“Me?” asked Obi-Wan. Luke’s solemn nod was entirely too serious for the man himself.

“How could it be _me?”_

“I have told you; I knew Ben Kenobi. Difficult as it may be to believe you grew into my teacher, he had the knowledge and the wherewithal necessary to make the correct changes at the correct time. I- I know it would be hard, Obi-Wan, but this is a matter greater than ourselves- although I’m glad, in a way, that this happened. It means that you won’t have to feel hurt all over again.”

Obi-Wan gulped. “And how did Master-“

Luke closed up a fist and opened it, adopting that same cheery and yet somehow _lethal_ expression.

“Your Master _meddled._ His spirit came to me, begging for a second chance- a chance to correct the errors he made in his former life, of which I know little. I didn’t trust him- well, but I have told you that the Priestesses are compulsive meddlers, haven’t I? And, as you know, Shaaks of a coat row the same boat.”

“So, this is fine. I’m being told that my master met up with a bunch of Force-goddesses for a nice tea and meddling party to turn a plan to save the universe on its head. Could you at least tell me _what_ the changes must be?” said Obi-Wan, trying to sound patient and calm and failing miserably.

“Ah, well, that’s the tricky part. I can’t really tell you directly, and Force forbid, I’d be the worst hypocrite in the Galaxy to use a riddle- so let me explain in a mathematical analogy. Imagine the universe around yourself to be a matrix, with its information stored as variable data. Your master is turned from a variable into an operator, tasked with performing operations such that when the transpose of said matrix is taken, it is, ah, found to be skew-symmetric.”

Obi-Wan’s mind was buzzing.

“You have the weirdest way of explaining things.” he said truthfully, and Luke offered a longsuffering smile, as if he’d been told so _many, many times._

So be it. Obi-Wan was Master Dooku’s padawan; however Luke twisted an explanation as only he could, he would unravel its mysteries. He’d do it for his Master- and _for his Galaxy._

“You mean to say that certain people who were in certain positions of significance will have their positions changed- but with the central characters and the cornerstones that support them remaining the same. My master must alter events to do this, and precisely in such a manner as to create the _exact negative,_ or rather the opposite, of the previous outcome- and you also mean to say that there are similarities to be found in polar opposites as well.”

The dumbfounded shock Luke radiated was a reward in itself.

 _“You actually **understand** me.” _Luke mouthed, still shocked. The awe in his voice was palpable- as well as the deluge of affection that Obi-Wan felt he would drown in.

“Well, then, what are the changes that must be made? Surely, it would be unfair to expect Master Dooku to do this all by himself.”

“I can’t believe what my father did- how in the nine hells could he turn away from- _this?”_ Luke said, pointing incredulously at the small padawan.

“Now, look here, Luke, there’s no need to… urk! Un…hand… me…”

“Well, you can’t blame me.” the ghostly Shaman mumbled, squeezing Obi-Wan with the Force one last time.

“Yes, right. The changes. The first is that my father, Anakin Skywalker, must not be betrayed.”

“He’s the Sith, isn’t he? Darth Vader?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to keep his expression neutral. Luke immediately flinched.

“Don’t call him that. That’s not my father.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “The matter that disturbs me is that I _know he is not,_ Luke. He’s- he’s my brother, I don’t know why or how, but he _is,_ and I somehow know it and I don’t even know whether or not he’s been born!” said Obi-Wan.

A wave of cold passed over the ancient sanctum.

Luke was watching him with an almost sheepish expression, twiddling his thumbs.

“Well, uh- when I talked previously about meddling, um- I, er, I can’t say I was entirely innocent of it as well.” Luke said, bowing his head a little.

Obi-Wan felt betrayed, all of a sudden.

“ _You?_ You’re the cause of all this- this prescience?” he said, rather more loudly than he’d intended.

Luke immediately began defending himself. “It- it was just supposed to be a minor Force bond, I swear it! I- I intended for you to train him, you see, as you did last time, but it would be good for him that he could feel that you loved him in his thick head! But of course, damn priestesses had to _meddle_ again…”

“How bad is it?” asked Obi-Wan. Luke was looking at everywhere but him.

“The Force bond? It’s- it’s extreme.” he finally said with a sigh. “Nearly total. About equal in strength to the bond the ancient Jedi Meetra Surik shared with her mentor Kreia- their fates were bound to each other’s, you see. The only one stronger was that of the legendary Revan and his wife, Bastila Shan- but only because that was a marital bond, and this a fraternal one.”

“Has he been born yet?” Obi-Wan asked.

“No.” said Luke, and Obi-Wan struggled with the urge to slap his palm against his forehead. How in Korriban could a bond exist between someone who wasn’t born yet and another who was very much alive if it didn’t hold a near-total strength?

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but, ah, was your father… well, was he, um…“

“A handful? In every damn sense of the word. Kriff, Obi-Wan, I’m sorry, but it couldn’t go unsaid.” Luke said, looking down. It almost made Obi-Wan want to allow him another hug, but he feared for his own health if he did so.

“Very… very well.” said Obi-Wan, preparing himself for the world of hurt that was to come. Not that he ever had one, but he somehow instinctively knew that little brothers _were the worst._

“You might as well tell me the rest of what must be done, now that I have passed your test.”

“Ah… ah well. The Sith Lord known as Darth Sidious must be defeated, of course, before he can wreak irreparable damage on the Living Force- that is you second objective. As for the third, well- even I do not know what the Whills meant.”

“Did they say anything?” Obi-Wan pressed.

“Only this- ‘To sustain balance must rise a Force Order which espouses it.’”

“O-oh.”

For the _longest_ time, there had only been Lightsiders and Darksiders- what even _was_ the balanced Force? Did it even _exist?_ Well it must, or Luke would not have been _Luke,_ but how was it possible for someone not so… ridiculous… to even fathom the concept?

“Luckily for you, my little teacher. I did some research. I do believe you’ll find some answers on- ah, _Tython,_ that is what the planet was called.”

“The ancient home of the Jedi Order.” Obi-Wan breathed. He’d ehard the name countless times from his educational texts- but the planet itself was never commented upon; it was almost as if it had a mythical air to it. “Where does one find it?”

“Er, let us say it is the _second-freakiest_ planet in the same freaky place where I found the priestesses.” said Luke.

Obi-Wan distinctly felt as if he _hated-_ no, not hate, hate led to suffering- he felt as if he was severely miffed by the existence of the word ‘freaky’.

“Well, now I do believe you ought to be going- as I understand it, you’ve found your crystal, haven’t you? We WILL meet again another time, whether you want it or not- and do be so kind as to bring a padawan along, will you? Leia wouldn’t be persuaded to let up on her particular efforts in meddling unless she has a nice, fresh kid to terrorise. I’d say you’d fit the bill, but there was no way I would allow her to haunt you.”

And with those words, Luke was gone, and the light went with him.

* * *

It was with a pained growl that Obi-Wan realised his palm was bleeding. The dark was near-total, and he could not see for the life of him, but he could feel the trickles of blood that ran down his own wrist.

An object had bitten into his palm, and with a small grunt, he drew it from his skin. There were many pieces of it, it seemed- abruptly, Obi-Wan used the Force to raise them to the air in front of him.

He still could see _nothing-_ hence an examination through the Force was the only option. He reached again for the _strings,_ and pulled them taut, gentling releasing when they flew together into sheets that slotted against each other and bent…

The objects that he had gained was _ancient._ Ancient beyond all count of years- and yet they _belonged_ in his grip, as if they had always been meant for _him_ alone.

They resonated within the Force, bending and his Force presence and enriching it thus; embellishing his light with their multiple reflection. _Kyber crystals-_ he thought- _multiple Kyber crystals._

He did not count them, as that would have been a waste of time. There were tens of shards, small, tiny shards- and yet as he willed it, they coalesced into one, great whole. There was only one place for it.

Gently, he picked up his nearly-finished lightsaber, and held it up in the darkness. Though he could not see, he _knew,_ instinctively _knew_ that the multi-crystal descended into it. He let the Force itself take over- it reeked of _Luke,_ he now saw, and however furious he was at the man, Obi-Wan could not help but be comforted by the thought.

He grasped for the emitter, which he had completed separately, and fixed it onto the hilt.

A deep breath- and he ignited it.

_No snap-hiss._

_No blade pierced the darkness._

Obi-Wan tried moving the hilt around- but there was no brisk _vrrmm_ of the plasma cutting through air resistance, no _hum_ of the Kyber as it unleashed the energy within.

He could feel no heat as well. Curse him- _he had failed, after all!_

Obi-Wan knew he had been inadequate form the beginning- just this, this way of offering delusions of grandeur was the cruellest form he could be reminded of it.

He half-expected himself to wake from an extremely vivid dream, once again in the intiates’ dorm- wake up in time to fly to… to _Bandomeer._

But he was not the same Obi-Wan Kenobi. He had seen things, terrible things, things that had aged him and brought lines to his eyes where there should be none at this age- and foremost, he was Master Dooku’s padawan.

_And an honorary Skywalker to boot, even if it was against his will._

_He was Obi-Wan Kenobi. Cosmos, child of the void._

And so, in an impulsive and thoroughly inelegant manner, he switched it off jerkily, turned it on again to no sound, and muttering a curse, jerked his fingers in the direction of where the blade should be.

_AAARGH!_

It BURNED! Kriff, it burned!

Obi-Wan swore very loudly, not caring about who would hear, or indeed about the sancity and peace of the ancient place he had just defiled with his thoroughly innovative expletives.

So there was, after all, a blade- only that it was utterly _black, black_ as the utter, absolute darkness _._

_And entirely soundless too._

Obi-Wan reflected- there had truly been no Jedi with a black blade apart from Tarre Vizsla and his famous Darksaber, which Master Dooku had forced Obi-Wan to read about again and again- and yet he had seen holos and images of the Darksaber. It, too, had a luminance to its blackness, with oddly white edges, and it was not… _shadowy,_ as his own blade seemed. It made the oddest, most discernible sounds as well, while his was utterly silent.

His was utter, absolute darkness- and it was _cold_ in a way he did not know.

 _“Cosmos, child of the void.”_ Luke’s now-familiar voice wishpered in his ear.

Well, perhaps he _did_ understand, after all.

Cosmos, son of the Void- and his blade was as black as the absolute darkness of which he was born.

Master Dooku was going to be so proud once Obi-Wan got to thrashing certain Quinlan Voses and Siri Tachis with his _terrifying_ blade once he returned to the Temple. 

**xxxx FIN DE LA PREMIÈRE PARTIE DE 'LEGACY OF THE REVENANT' xxxx**

Part two, **DARK TIDES ARISE,** shall be published after a short interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arr, me mateys on the Darkie Sidey. 
> 
> The truth is, I have taken the decision to split up this tale into multiple parts, as part of a series, 'Legacy of the Revenant'. As such, this is the end of 'Gar Tal'din ni Jaonyc; Gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la'. 
> 
> I shall, of course, edit the tags accordingly. Part two, 'Dark Tides Arise' is still a work in progress, so I am afraid there will have to be a bit of a wait. 
> 
> An evil, cackling thank-you to all who have been kind enough to comment.


	9. The Sequel

The Sequel to this story and the timeline it establishes, **Dha Shonar Oralor** (Dark Tides Arise) has been published as the third work in 'Legacy of the Revenant', after a short and if necessary, skippable interlude- **Taranis**


End file.
